


The Watcher

by lascif



Series: The Watcher AU [1]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angels, Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fallen Angels, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Love Triangles, M/M, Physical Abuse, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-05-02 23:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 162,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14555526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lascif/pseuds/lascif
Summary: Taekwoon is an angel, a Watcher, one of the omnipresent Eyes of God, placed on earth to watch over humanity. He protects God's creations for millennia, invisible and silent, until he unexpectedly finds himself in love with a beautiful dancer, Hakyeon, and faces his looming mortality.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are many Angel AU’s out there, but this one is mine. I will try to update at least weekly, sometimes bi-weekly.
> 
> The main characters are VIXX. I will be using other idols as minor characters, but they won’t be listed in tags. 
> 
> Warning: There will be smut. It's a slow burn, but it'll explode eventually.

Prologue

 _“The eyes of the LORD are in every place, Watching the evil and the good.”_ (Proverbs 15:3)

The Watcher leaned back against the darkened window, relaxed. He could see the ten individuals in the boardroom, staring blankly at the PowerPoint presentation on corporate compliance. They could not see him. Even as they adjourned for the day and a smartly dressed woman with long black hair and a blue skirt suit approached the window to peer down at the afternoon traffic below, her gaze went right through him.

It was one of his favorite spots in the city. This particular office building had Western-style construction, with deep, decorative alcoves for the windows, scrollwork on the sills. When he’d discovered it a few months back, it reminded him of his time Watching in Paris, many years ago. The art and music of that era had been wonderful, and it was one of the happiest times he could remember. The nostalgia reminded him that he could still feel things. It was a good reminder. He’d wandered far too long in a cloud of sadness, and it encouraged him to renew his quiet patronage of the arts. Humans were humans, no matter where you went in the world, for good or ill, but the things they made, their art, their architecture, their stories and performances, the works of their imaginations were nothing short of extraordinary, and it was these experiences and creations of the human mind which made The Watcher’s long life feel worthwhile.

He had never made anything himself, he pondered listlessly as he Watched. He wasn’t even sure if he could. To create would be to Interfere, and he was only a Watcher. Through his countless years, he had seen cities rise and fall, and civilizations crumble. He had Watched men born, grow old, and die. He’d seen war, famine, murder. He’d seen the very worst humanity had to offer each other and had to sit by and just let it happen, because he couldn’t Interfere. Frequently, to his disgrace, he’d turned his face away. This meant he probably wasn’t a very good Watcher, but he just didn’t have the stomach for violence. But there was none of that here. Here, there was life, there was beauty. Because here, he could see the dancers.

The Watcher’s perch outside of the office complex directly faced an independent cosmetics store emblazoned with the bright pink letters “B.O.D.Y.” and a bakery-café called Dream Bean, which sat on either side of a small dance school. From his window ledge, he could see directly into two of the studios where the students practiced ballet and contemporary dance. He loved to Watch the dancers.

Every day, he would see them come and go, sometimes rushing straight to the subway, sometimes stopping to shop for their lip gloss or BB cream, sometimes rushing in to grab a bun from the bakery with shifty glances, hoping their classmates wouldn’t see their shame. The Watcher inhaled as the breeze shifted. The saccharinity of the air smelled good, and the humans certainly seemed to enjoy their treats. He wouldn’t know. He’d never eaten. He didn’t need to, but even though he was, admittedly, curious, he didn’t dare. To interact could always mean to Interfere, and to Interfere was his worst possible sin.

As his mind wandered languidly, the boardroom had emptied, the rush hour traffic had come to its usual grinding halt, and the students in the ballet class had dressed and were beginning to warm up. The Watcher felt a little thrill to see that his particular favorite, a young man who practiced both contemporary and ballet at this studio, had chosen a spot at the barre directly in front of the window. He could see his face directly, rather than the slightly distorted or partially-blocked reflection in the mirror, and he sighed a bit wistfully, an unconscious gesture.

He thought of him simply as The Dancer. His Dancer. The youth was tall and lithe and tan, with beautiful musculature, and he danced with every part of his body. The risen veins on the backs of his hands were delicate when he stretched out his fingers, reaching into full extensions. His long neck drew out the elegant line of his spine when he arched backwards, making him look even more swanlike and graceful. His face was small and lovely, with dark eyes and a pointed nose, soft pink lips, high cheekbones, and a sweet smile, white and even. These are the things anyone would see. But The Watcher noticed so much more, like, when The Dancer concentrated deeply on his movement, his forehead would furrow slightly, and his black hair, cut just a bit too long, fell into his eyes, making him squint. His face wasn’t perfectly symmetrical, with his left eye just situated slightly higher than the right, which made his features even better than just being simply beautiful, it made his face interesting. The shape of his collarbones was exactly the curve as that of a violin. He had a waspy, feminine waist and the arc that led to his hips was…actually, he couldn’t even think about that right now.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Wonshik smiled, appearing out of nowhere onto the window ledge where The Watcher sat, his knees drawn to his chest, and snapping him from his dangerous line of thought. “You always did like to watch the dancers.”

The Watcher nodded to the Malakhim, not pulling his eyes from the enormous industrial-sized window of the building opposite. He swallowed a few times, attempting to clear his throat, but realized quickly that he wasn’t going to be able to speak without a great deal of coughing and uncomfortable throat-clearing. It was a hazard of not using one’s voice for months or years on end. Wonshik wouldn’t be offended at all if he didn’t bother with the effort. He understood. It just made The Watcher a little glum to miss out on what little opportunity he had for conversation.

“Are they any good?” Wonshik asked, leaning against the window and making it clear he planned to stay for a while.

The Watcher didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Gesturing with one white hand, Wonshik’s gaze followed it into the studio where The Dancer was taking to his feet. Even this simple movement was elegant in itself, but he then began demonstrating a difficult combination for the class under the instructor’s tutelage. The other angel’s breath caught, and Wonshik promptly sat, drawn in fully by the dance, and folded his body into a mirror image of his friend’s. Both watched, awestruck, as the young dancer moved across the floor, twirling and flexing with otherworldly grace.

“He’s exquisite,” Wonshik breathed. “What a gift he has been graced with. I know now why you like it here. Do you know his name?”

The Watcher shook his head in the negative, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t want to know,” the other mused aloud. “Best to avoid temptation,” he teased.

The Watcher didn’t react, though he felt his fingers twitch with passing nerves. Wonshik didn’t know exactly how close to the truth he’d gotten.

They watched together in companionable silence for the remainder of the class. When the students were dismissed and began to gather their possessions, Wonshik stood, stretching out his neck and back. He stroked a hand casually through The Watcher’s white hair, who leaned into his touch, eyes closing peacefully.

“It’s been a long time,” Wonshik said quietly, crouching back down and leaning in, pressing his head against the other’s. “You should get some rest. Take a break.”

He continued his absent-minded caressing for a while longer, the two angels taking quiet comfort in each other. They watched the dance students flow from the front door of the building onto the sidewalks, and the lights go out in the buildings nearby. The sky faded from brilliant blue into the muted purples and oranges of autumn sunset and the shadows on the street lengthened and grew.

“I should go,” Wonshik said, pressing an unexpected kiss to The Watcher’s forehead. He gifted him a small smile in return, with a hand on the other angel’s cheek. “You’ll be okay?”

The Watcher nodded. “Be safe,” he croaked as best he could in his rusty voice, as Wonshik pushed aside the veil and stepped Beyond. He probably didn’t hear.

The Watcher could have followed him. He could have taken Wonshik’s advice, taken time to rest, to breathe, to speak to others of his own kind. No one would have stopped him. No one would have judged him. In fact, they would have welcomed him with open arms.

But for some reason, while the other angel’s soothing presence had given him a great deal of peace while he was still there, The Watcher now felt distressed. Did Wonshik know how deep his feelings for The Dancer lay? Did he realize how precariously close to the edge he had come? If he’d been able to speak normally, could he have confided in his friend? If he had, would Wonshik have understood his conflicted feelings? Would he have been able to tell him that everything would be okay, that he was strong, that he wouldn’t fall like….No, they would never discuss that. It was still too painful.

The Watcher knew that he shouldn’t want The Dancer, this beautiful human dancer, but he did. He wanted. The way he danced with joy and expression and life, the way his body moved, so sweetly and passionately, only further illuminated his extraordinary beauty and engulfed The Watcher in the temptation of sin. He had fallen in love at the very first sight, The Dancer’s ode to life sentencing The Watcher to death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the things we love hurt us the most  
> (or, some backstory without much plot advancement)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been hammering this out whilst procrastinating on homework, so we're getting a double post this week. Hooray!

Hakyeon believed he may have had an out-of-body experience once.

It was in a late October, just like this one, and he’d been walking alone at night. He was back at home, in the town he’d been born, before he moved to the city to attend university and pursue his dream of becoming a huge star. (A work in progress, he thinks, sourly.) The first snow of the year had started to fall, a very early, unexpected snowfall, and the flakes were stuck together in clumps like cotton fluff, looking out of place among the last of the dying red leaves. He stood on the edge of a ring of light, the streetlamp illuminating the falling snow and making it sparkle like glitter in a snow globe.  Abruptly, he started to cry. He didn’t even know why, but the tears made his eyes sting before pouring down his cheeks, and that's when he felt his soul leave his body; he could see himself from outside, just for a moment, pale as an angel keeping watch over graves. He was rail-thin, shrouded in his scarf and overcoat, eyes turned fishy silver in the half-light, and felt like the only man left in the world.

He felt just the same the first time he was struck by someone he loved.

They’d been leaving a rock concert, and up until then they’d been having a reasonably good time, considering they’d been on the verge of breaking up for weeks, but Min Jun had been drinking (a habit grown more and more frequent in recent weeks), another boy had gotten handsy with Hakyeon, and he’d gotten jealous. Things had escalated into a stupid argument, Min Jun grabbed him, Hakyeon pushed him away, then time seemed to move both in fast-forward and slow motion simultaneously as there was an impression of movement, an unexpected pain shot through him, and he saw stars flash before his eyes as he raised a trembling hand to his cheek. He never saw it coming.

The moment froze, as though it were happening to someone other than him. There was a complete and total disconnect between his body and soul. His brain couldn’t make sense of it. Min Jun loved him. Min Jun wouldn’t hurt him.

But he had.

His boyfriend had immediately apologized, begged for forgiveness, said he hadn’t meant to, it was an accident, he’d never do it again. He’d reached for Hakyeon, still stammering his regrets, but Hakyeon had recoiled from his touch, thrown the other man’s hand away, getting into the car with a dark, “Don’t call,” and slammed the door shut behind him. He’d already gotten on the freeway before coming back into his mind enough to realize that they’d driven together, and he’d effectively abandoned his boyfriend (ex-boyfriend, he corrected himself) at the concert venue on the outskirts of the city, leaving him to find his own way home. Hakyeon briefly considered going back, but Min Jun had his cell phone with him. He could call his brother, or his parents, or his friends, or a taxi…literally anybody whose face he hadn’t mangled.

Hakyeon’s cell rang. He glanced at it, already knowing that it was Min Jun, rejected the call automatically, and turned the phone off. He took several deep breaths, calming himself as he approached his exit. The clock on the dashboard read 12:28. He had to be awake by 6:30 in order to get to class on time and might as well not even bother sleeping. He had resigned himself to the idea of pulling an all-nighter as he trudged up the stairs of his ancient apartment building, but by the time he got inside, he was swimming with exhaustion, had a pounding headache, and was feeling more than a little depressed.

In the end, he did sleep for a few hours amidst the tossing, turning, smashing a bag of ice on his face, and imagining all the things he wished he’d said in their last fight, before he finally gave up at five, flipped on the light, and made some tea. Ink, his black cat, had opened one eyelid, examined him, and given him up as a bad job before stretching and moving into the warm spot he’d left behind on the sheets. At least he was good for _something_.

He moved around slowly, getting ready. His apartment was a mess. One could always tell the state of Hakyeon’s mental health based upon whether he cleaned up after himself or not, and as it stood, he hadn't done laundry in two weeks and it currently lay wherever he happened to have taken it off, and not a square inch of the kitchen table was visible, under piles of notebooks, homework, and unopened mail. A mess of this magnitude clearly reflected Min Jun and the upheaval he’d inflicted on Hakyeon’s life as their relationship had unraveled. It had been a long time coming.

After a careful application of concealer on his bruised cheekbone, a light layer of foundation to blend it in, and a long trek on the crowded subway, Monday morning's first class was Twentieth Century Novels, a boring and completely unnecessary general education survey course. Within the first twenty minutes, Hakyeon was deeply regretting being responsible and not missing class.  The only thing keeping him awake was his own detailed survey of a classmate, named Caleb.

Hakyeon had spent the duration of the semester watching him in growing fascination. He’d told himself it had nothing to do with why his interest in Min Jun had been dwindling, but, well…it may have had a little bit to do with it. Each day he'd hunch over a travel coffee mug on the desk and sip delicately from it, looking for all the world as though he had a New Year's hangover. A black leather jacket was slung over the back of his chair, so old and worn that it could have been made from thick silk, the seams held together unabashedly with silver duct tape. His skinny jeans insinuated 'hipster' but over them, he wore heavy black combat boots with shiny hardware.

Caleb was no great beauty; his brows were heavy and black, shadowing a Romanesque nose adorned with a plain silver ring, but his eyes were a pretty gray with long lashes, set into a pale face faintly dusted with freckles. To Hakyeon, he was lovely, and that day, when their eyes met sometime in the middle of the lecture on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s _The Beautiful and Damned_ , Caleb smiled crookedly, and Hakyeon was done for.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were in the running for the title of the university’s most nauseatingly affectionate and inseparable couple. Hakyeon’s best friend, Hongbin, called it a classic rebound, and had encouraged exercising caution, but Hakyeon never gave himself halfway in anything. He and Caleb had a lot in common. They had fun together. They laughed at each other’s jokes. They finished each other’s sentences. They made love like the world was ending. They moved in together at the end of the school year. And later, when Caleb sometimes began to leave hand-shaped bruises on Hakyeon’s tender skin, he somehow found ways to forgive him, and grew increasingly talented at covering his shame with layers of creamy makeup.

\---

One year later

“Pirouette, arabesque, balancé, balancé. A bit faster!”

In a studio filled with warm afternoon sunshine, the dance instructor chanted her directives, clapping her hands to the beat of the tinkling piano. Hakyeon danced fluidly, from memory, having no need of the instruction.

He knew he was dancing well. He didn’t have to think about it, because he could feel it in every muscle as they stretched and flexed, the luminous fluidity of movement, both mind and body remembering emotion, turning it into action that could be seen and felt and molded into a shared experience between dancer and viewer. He used to loathe ballet. It was too structured, too controlled for his style of emotional theatre, but now, there were times when he lost himself so completely in the exquisite torture of the dance, he felt like he had transcended somewhere beyond.

He wanted to feel like that now. He knew he could, he would, if he could just reach past the pain. There was a deep throbbing ache in his shoulder that he just couldn’t shake. It had been dislocated two days before, but anti-inflammatory drugs only could keep the swelling down so much when he couldn't stop moving, couldn't rest, couldn’t take time off. He had too much happening right now. He wouldn’t risk ruining his chances just because he was whining. So he’d settled his mask in place, it was perfect, he was smiling as though the dance were all he could feel, but underneath, he was screaming.

At the end of the piece, his satisfied teacher rested a hand upon his shoulder and murmured, “lovely.” He smiled and bowed his head modestly at the praise, secretly grinding his teeth and reminding himself not to flinch back at the touch of her hand.

“Everyone take five, then we’ll run the whole thing from the top,” she called so the whole group could hear, and the young man slumped to the floor gratefully, leaning his sweat-soaked back against the one wall covered in brick instead of mirrors. Another dancer immediately joined him, swiping damp bangs from his forehead.

“That was awful. How did you manage to talk me into ballet again?” Hongbin moaned, contorting his ridiculously handsome features into a grimace. “It hurts. Muscles I didn’t even know I had hurt. The muscles that hurt have muscles that hurt. And we don’t even _need_ this.”

Hakyeon chuckled. “Because, my dear Bean, even if we don’t need it, it still makes us better.”

The younger man heaved a martyred sigh, but unable to argue with the logic, up-ended his water bottle instead, and took several long swallows before passing it to his friend. It had apparently been frozen before class and dripped condensation on his face and neck as he drank. It felt amazing on his heated skin.

They ran through the routine two more times before class ended and as they exited into the street, both were tired, flushed, and in a very good mood.

“God, it’s gorgeous out here,” Hongbin moaned, shrugging off his track jacket. The autumn had been mild thus far and the late afternoon was still warm, requiring nothing more than a tee-shirt. “Do you want to grab dinner or something?"

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said Hakyeon. “At least, not tonight.”

“Is He Who Must Not Be Named on the warpath again?”

Hakyeon knew his guilty expression must have given him away, because Hongbin's face immediately darkened. 

“We just argued last night is all," Hakyeon hastened to explain. "He thinks I’m out too much, and now that we’ve got rehearsals four days a week for the show on top of my dance classes, he’s just…I don’t know. I just think I should go home tonight.”

“Right. Text me and let me know you’re okay.”

Hakyeon nodded, and watched as Hongbin turned in the other direction without another word, or even a goodbye. He hated that it always came to this, but they’d had the argument so many times, they both already knew what the other would say. It was pointless to keep having the same fight over and over. Hakyeon would text him later and apologize, just as he always did.

He moved his bag over to his uninjured shoulder so it lay across his chest more comfortably and shuffled a few steps, glancing up at the breathtaking blue of the sky, when a flash of bright white against the brick of the nearby building caught his eye. Far above his head, a man was standing calmly on a window ledge, at least six stories up, looking down at the street below.

“Don’t jump!” Hakyeon cried suddenly, taking several steps forward to get a better look. His eyes met those of the man above, and Hakyeon had only just registered the terrified expression on the man’s handsome face when a car horn blared loudly in his ear. His head whipped to the side to see the front end of a blue Civic, close, too close, and the shriek of compressed brakes. So focused was he in the scene above that he’d not realized that he’d stumbled into the street. So, it was with a strangled cry that he landed painfully back on the sidewalk, as Hongbin yanked him hard by the arm, out of the way of the oncoming vehicle, swearing loudly.

“What the fuck was that? You could have gotten yourself killed! Hakyeon? Hakyeon!”

The dancer stumbled back onto his feet, grasping his shoulder which felt like it may be dislocated again, and stared back up at the building. The man was gone. The window was closed. Had he gone back inside? Had he jumped? He did his best to search the ground, but there didn’t seem to be anything happening. He couldn’t see through the traffic. Was there anything on the sidewalk? None of the other pedestrians looked the slightest bit concerned about a beautiful suicidal man, just those who had seen Hakyeon nearly get hit by the car.

The driver of the Civic was yelling something at him about being in the road, but he barely heard it. Hongbin engaged the driver in argument instead and took a few steps away. A middle-aged woman was looking Hakyeon over and asking him if he was alright, brushing at his teeshirt, and he nodded blankly, still trying to find the man he’d thought would jump. But it was as though there had never been anyone there at all.

“It was an accident, okay?” Hongbin yelled once more at the driver, who got back in his car, cursing at them both. The rush hour traffic wouldn’t wait, and the other drivers on the road were blaring their horns and gesturing rudely. He pushed the woman aside, who tutted, and spun Hakyeon around, checking him over thoroughly for damage she may have missed.

“What the ever-living fuck, Hakyeon?”

“I just…I thought I saw something,” he stammered.

“There’s nothing there.”

“I know. I see that now. I just…it was so real.”

Hongbin finally let go of him and with a gasp, crouched down next to his dance bag. Hakyeon’s eyes filled with tears as he realized that the younger man wasn’t angry, he was frightened.

“I’m sorry, Bean. I’m sorry,” Hakyeon babbled, dropping to the sidewalk next to him and throwing his arms around him.

“ _Never_ do that again,” Hongbin choked out, sobbing into Hakyeon’s chest. “Fuck, what if you had died? What if… Damn you, Cha Hakyeon. Don't you ever scare me like that again.”

“I won't. I won't. I’m sorry.”

They held onto each other for several long minutes, shaking and crying, waving off the offers of help from concerned strangers. And when their sobs had turned to soft sniffles and hiccups, realizing that neither of them was going to be able to leave the other, as if by an unspoken agreement, they stood, Hongbin carrying both bags, and walked in the direction of the subway, headed for Hakyeon’s apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taekwoon wonders how to deal with the aftermath of revealing himself to a human and Hakyeon begins to question his new normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's a little bit of smut with OMC, but it's not excessive. The good stuff comes later. XD  
> It is, however, sprinkled with references to past abuse, so while it is, ultimately, consensual, it's not done as part of a healthy relationship. Please bear that in mind.

There was no curse in the collective languages of earth or heaven strong enough to force its way past The Watcher’s lips in his moment of desperate fear. He Watched as The Dancer’s handsome friend dragged him from the street and into the relative safety of the city sidewalk. The other humans were making a predictable racket at the outburst, and The Watcher pressed himself hard into the curve of the alcove, heart hammering against his ribcage, as The Dancer continued to search for him from below, seemingly oblivious to the chaos he had caused. The Watcher felt his heart clench and forcibly turned himself away from those dark, haunted eyes.

He’d seen him. The Dancer had _seen_ him. It didn’t appear that he could see him now, but he certainly had before. The question was - HOW? It shouldn’t have been possible. The Watcher had always been careful; so careful. He’d never been spotted by a human. Not once in thousands of years of existence.

He’d always done everything he was supposed to do. He’d done everything right, even when it tore at his guts and tears had burned his eyes and blurred his vision, straining with the effort it took not to Interfere. When a young man bled out on the street, or a screaming child was abducted, or an old woman went silent and still from exposure on a winter’s night, The Watcher had done nothing. When humans were forcibly taken, crying out for mercy, or their villages razed to the ground, curses raised to God and his angels for letting it happen, or when they starved to death in silence, he’d kept his secrets hidden and his silence absolute. He’d called a Malakhim, usually Wonshik, just as he was supposed to do, and allowed God’s will to take its course. He remembered their faces, though, the people he had not saved. He remembered every single one.

But then, his precious dancer had nearly been taken away right before his eyes, by something as common and cruel as the cold metal frame of an automobile. And when it happened, probably from sheer force of habit, he had done nothing. Absolutely nothing. He didn't even think to react. It was the other dancer who had saved his love from danger. The Dancer nearly became another pair of accusing eyes in The Watcher’s waking nightmares. But no, the problem wasn’t that he hadn’t Interfered, but that it was _his_ fault entirely that his sweet human’s light could have gone out in the first place. And all because he’d allowed himself to be seen. He had to make sure it never happened again. What could he have possibly done for the human to be able to see him at all?

In order to have revealed himself to this person, he had to have affected in his life in some way. But how? _How?_ They’d never spoken. They’d never touched. He’d never planned to interact with The Dancer in any way. The Watcher would never have thought to try to make changes to his life, or follow him, or contact him, or, or anything, really. He just wanted to see him dance, that’s all. Right?

He sank down and drew his knees to his chest, seeking comfort. He turned his gaze back to the scene below. The two dancers were weeping in each other’s arms and The Watcher felt a pang. He wanted to be the one to soothe away the young man’s distress and confusion. He wanted to brush the tear trails from his cheeks, smooth as teak. He wanted to know the feeling of holding The Dancer in his arms, keeping him safe. And for the first time, he imagined, dangerously, disloyally, just for one precious moment, what it might be like to crush his face against The Dancer’s hair, to breathe in his scent, to cradle that lithe, warm body against his own and share his heat. He imagined the way The Dancer’s eyes would look, up close, reflecting the love he would see in the angel’s own.

The sweet memory of the human’s dark eyes brought The Watcher back from fantasy to what was real and the angel laughed aloud. The sound was unfamiliar and strange to his ears. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d laughed. It had to have been nearly a hundred years. Back when Wonshik and Jaehwan…but that was a long time ago. The Dancer had seen him, really _seen_ him. They’d looked into each other’s eyes. They’d seen each other’s faces. For one brief moment in time, they were together. His Dancer knew that he existed. For a precious soul so pure, so beautiful, to acknowledge him, a Watcher, a nothing, little more than a ghost in the shadows -- could that not be called happiness?

The joy swam in his breast. He clutched at the ecstatic sensation, held it close inside him. He clenched his eyes shut, reveling in the feeling of warm, bright light that seemed to have taken residence in the center of his chest. He didn't want anything else. He didn’t Watch the other humans on the street. He didn’t care. He knew it was selfish. He knew it was wrong. But he lay back against the cold, unfeeling brick of the empty office block, beneath the setting sun, and allowed himself to feel. And it was glorious.

And The Dancer and his friend walked away, hands clasped tightly together. He didn’t look back again. He didn’t look up. But if he had, he would have witnessed an angel beginning to fall.

\---

By the time the pair had arrived at Hakyeon’s apartment, Hakyeon had already apologized at least three times for the mess. He knew Hongbin didn’t actually care, but things at home had been tense and the way he'd avoided spending any extra time there proved it.

His boyfriend, Caleb, worked as Chef de Cuisine at an Italian restaurant downtown and wouldn’t be off work for several hours yet, so the two friends threaded their way through the precarious stacks of generalized clutter, made their way to Hakyeon’s bedroom, and just lay in his bed for a while, arms locked around each other, lost in their own thoughts. Neither of them said a word. They knew they didn’t need to.

It was almost a shame, Hakyeon thought absently, running his fingers up and down his friend's sleeve, that he and Hongbin had never had any sort of romantic feelings for each other. It really had never even been a thought between them. They’d tried kissing once, a long time ago, purely out of curiosity, with a bit of alcohol-fueled bravado thrown in, but it was just too weird. Their lips had met awkwardly, as they both tilted their heads in the same direction, then again as both attempted to overcorrect. Hakyeon liked to bite and Hongbin used a bit too much tongue, they were completely incompatible. It had been completely impossible to refrain from laughing, and they never bothered with it again. Hongbin was too much like a brother for anything to ever happen between them, but in that same vein, Hakyeon viewed Hongbin as close as family and loved him probably more than anyone else on earth. And he knew that. The feeling was mutual.

Hakyeon sighed deeply, snuggling more firmly into Hongbin's warmth. He’d been such an idiot that afternoon, stumbling out into traffic. He was haunted by the memory of the younger man’s tears. If he’d gotten himself injured or killed, Hongbin would have been absolutely devastated. He had his roommate, but neither of them were particularly close to their families, and they were each other's very closest companion. He never wanted to hurt his precious friend in that way. It made him feel guilty for taking his love for granted, albeit unintentionally. He'd never meant to do so.

But the illusion, if it had been an illusion, had been so real. He was absolutely certain in that moment that he’d seen a man on the window ledge, and he was about ninety-nine percent certain now. Discussing it on the way home, Hongbin thought he must have just seen some kind of reflection in the window, but his vision had been perfectly clear, not distorted or mirrored as a reflection would be. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to remember the man’s face; his long, slender frame. His eyes had been dark, contrasting his hair so blond it was practically white. His facial features had been gracefully sculpted, almost feline. He tried to recall more detail, but the effort was making his head ache. It had been so brief, and from a significant distance, but no, he knew for a fact that it was real. The young man had had a beautiful face, an unforgettable face. And he'd heard Hakyeon call to him. He'd been afraid when he saw Hakyeon stumble. And then he just disappeared like a spirit, but he had to have been real because he couldn't have made it up. Hakyeon knew he’d never met such a person before; he never would have been able to forget that face.

Hongbin mumbled something nonsensical. Hakyeon turned to look at his friend, whose breathing had become very hot and moist against his neck. Hongbin was even prettier in sleep, his dark lashes fanned across his cheeks, and his lips pursed like a child. He looked very young. And while Hakyeon was very comfortable and would have happily slept the rest of the night just like that, knowing the way Caleb would react, he wouldn’t be able to let him stay there.

He regretfully coaxed Hongbin out of the bed and onto the couch, pushing a squashy throw pillow under his head and covering him with blankets. He got back in his own bed and texted his boyfriend, anticipating the inevitable disapproval.

> _> > Hey honey, I had a bit of an accident this afternoon and HB walked me home. He’s on the couch. Sorry for no notice. _
> 
> _< < What accident? Are you okay?_
> 
> _> > I fell in the street. I almost got hit by a car. Bean pulled me out of the way. I’m okay thanks to him. _
> 
> _< < You know how much I hate having that spiteful twink in my house, but I guess I owe him_
> 
> _> > Please don’t call him that. He’s my friend. Be nice?_
> 
> _< < I'm always nice. Be home soon_

Hakyeon sighed. Always nice. Right. He knew how much his boyfriend and best friend loathed each other, but he wished they would make a bit more of an effort for his sake. As it was, they always acted like a pair of alpha dogs, sniffing each other's asses and deciding whether it was worth starting the fight. But on the bright side, so long as Caleb didn’t wake Hongbin when he came in the house, the two dancers could slip out the door in the morning long before Caleb woke, so they may be able to avoid each other entirely and they could skip the passive-aggressive bullshit.

It happened to work out in exactly that way, much to Hakyeon’s unrestrained delight. Caleb dropped into bed with only a minimal amount of grumbling (it was more than Hakyeon could have hoped for), after slinking through the house without turning any lights on, and in the morning, he was dead to the world, so Hakyeon and Hongbin were able to creep out again without disturbing him.

“I’m impressed that he was so considerate,” Hongbin commented as they waited in line for coffee. “You’ll have to tell him thank you for me.”

“Tell him yourself.”

“Negatory, but thanks for the offer.”

Hakyeon rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were turned up, so Hongbin would know he wasn’t mad. He’d long since accepted their animosity. It came from a place of love.

That night, Hakyeon was concerned that the relative peace of the night before wouldn’t be able to last. He knew that Caleb wasn’t happy that he’d allowed Hongbin to stay, but he’d been so busy between college courses and his dance classes today that the two of them hadn’t had the chance to really speak since then. He had absolutely no idea what to expect when he got home, since Caleb had the lunch shift today and they'd be alone together all evening for the first time in a long time.

So, it was with a sense of foreboding that Hakyeon made his way up the stairwell and swallowed hard before punching the code into the keypad. The lock chimed merrily, and the front door opened.

The lights were all on and Caleb was sprawled out across the ugly floral-patterned sofa in a Guns ‘n Roses tee-shirt and boxers, video game controller in hand and a bag of Doritos in lap. The sounds of monsters dying under his ridiculously-oversized sword emerged from the surround sound and he smiled when Hakyeon came in.

Damn, he’d even cleaned the apartment. Hakyeon’s eyes opened wide. The clothes were put away. There weren’t any dirty dishes on the kitchen counter. The pile of unopened mail he’d been neglecting on the entryway table had been cleared. Even the mismatched stack of DVDs and cases that had accumulated next to the TV for the better part of six months had managed to find their mates and get back to their homes on the shelf.

“Hey babe, how was your day?” Caleb prompted, trying not to laugh at the lost expression on his boyfriend’s face. His Korean was excellent, and Hakyeon had always found his Australian accent absolutely adorable. Especially the way his tongue slipped over the more tricky vowels.

The relief that flooded over Hakyeon was dizzying in its intensity.

“It was good. Yours?”

“Good,” he replied. “Have you eaten? I brought some takeaway home from work for you. Bucatini Carbonara. It’s in the oven if you want some. It should still be warm,” he said distractedly as the game music turned more intense. “Give me just a few minutes and I’ll stop. I’m almost to a save point.”

“No hurry,” Hakyeon said. “You don’t have to stop for me. I need to go take a shower anyway.”

“Want some company?” he teased. Hakyeon just laughed and headed down the hall, escaping the sounds of electronic battle.

Hakyeon smiled to himself, entering the bedroom and emptying the dirty clothes from his dance bag into the laundry hamper. His boyfriend hadn’t been in such a good mood in quite a while. He certainly wasn’t going to question it, but it somehow felt a bit like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Perhaps an alien had taken over his body? Had he skipped work in favor of a full lobotomy? Hakyeon hummed to himself as he stripped off his tee-shirt, sweatpants, and briefs, and wandered into the bathroom.

He gazed into the large illuminated mirror, leaning close to examine his face. No wrinkles yet, thank God. No acne. And he’d managed to avoid the sun most of the summer, so he hadn’t picked up any more of a tan. He pushed his bangs back from his forehead to check there, and sighed at the ghost of a small pink scar running just below his hairline. He’d gotten it on the edge of this very counter. Seeing it, he couldn’t help but remember Caleb’s black look before the blood had run into his eyes and he couldn’t see his face anymore. He pushed the hair back down, frowning. He didn’t like to remember, but maybe, even in the face of good days like today, he needed to.

He let his eyes wander over his body, taking inventory of the damage. A long thin scar on his right forearm where he’d smashed it against the bookcase. A set of faint greenish bruises on his upper arm that had almost faded away. They exactly matched the size and shape of his boyfriend’s hand. He'd fought very hard to get his arm loose to leave the house. He rested his own fingertips over them, his mood falling. His gaze wandered down, and he frowned. He’d grown thinner as of late, particularly since starting the extra dance classes. He didn’t eat when he was stressed and all the tension at home made him more stressed than anything. Paired with the extra expended calories, it meant he couldn’t keep any padding on, and the ability to quickly and accurately count rib bones wasn’t a very good look for anyone. Speaking of ribs, the old bruise there had faded. That was good. His shoulder still looked like shit, though.

He twisted his body to look at it from the back and cringed. It was still black and blue. Gross. He’d have to keep it hidden for at least another week, and he hated wearing long sleeves to dance class. Being a bit sweaty, however, was infinitely better than dealing with the stares, or making up excuses.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb whispered, as though reading his mind.

Hakyeon spun around. Caleb was in the doorway and was staring at his shoulder with an expression of deep regret. It made Hakyeon’s cheeks burn and he fought the urge to cover himself.

“I’m fine,” he said, stepping to the shower and turning the hot water on.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Caleb’s arms encircle him from behind, and his forehead press to his back. “I’m so ashamed, Yeonnie. To know I hurt you. To know that this was all my fault. I—”

“Can we not talk about this now?” Hakyeon interrupted, somewhat stiff, but not moving away from the unanticipated touch. “Please? I had a really long day. I mean, I appreciate everything you’ve done today. I’m just really tired, and…” he trailed off as his boyfriend’s lips trailed up between his shoulder blades and pressed softly against the back of his neck.

“Then let me make you feel good instead?” Caleb murmured against his skin.

Hakyeon took in a deep breath. He knew he should say no and ask him to leave. He’d just finished looking over all the damage the other man had done. He was capable of doing much worse. Hakyeon knew he should just take his shower, eat his dinner, rest, and heal. He knew all of these things, but it was true, he was tired. He’d been hurting all day, for several days, and hiding his hurt, and the way the other man’s hands felt right now, sliding around his waist, across his bare skin, the way his lips and tongue were tracing over the sensitive bit of skin just below his ear, tasting the salt of his exertions, it felt so good, and he wanted to feel good, even if it was just for a moment.

Turning in his boyfriend’s arms, he connected their lips and let the kiss deepen. Regardless of days past, this Caleb he’d seen tonight, this was the Caleb he thought he remembered. The Caleb he’d fallen in love with. The Caleb who knew him inside and out, who made time for him, and cared enough to prepare his favorite foods, and could make him come completely undone with the way he kissed, the way he was doing now, sucking his lower lip, caressing his hips. The Caleb who had dropped out of university to support them both when the financial aid funds were running low and wouldn’t let Hakyeon give up his dance classes to take a part-time job. The Caleb who wasn’t stressed and angry and jealous and lashing out. Fuck it. Hakyeon rucked Caleb’s shirt up over his head and pushed his boxers down in a quick, practiced motion as they made their way into the shower.

Hakyeon gasped as the heat of the spray and the heat of Caleb’s body contrasted with the cold tile of the shower wall he was quickly held against as all three collided with his flesh simultaneously. His lover was slightly shorter than himself, but stronger, more muscular. When they pressed together like this, he felt completely surrounded, enveloped by the other man. He felt small. It was overwhelming. It allowed him to forget. No, he wanted to forget. His breath was entirely stolen away by the crush of their kiss, deep and powerful and so familiar. His hips jutted towards the other man artlessly as his broad, calloused hands wandered down Hakyeon’s toned abdomen to grasp at his cock. The dancer cried out loudly the instant he was touched, the sound swallowed by Caleb’s hot mouth. He was fully hard, aching, and knew immediately that he wasn’t going to last long as the older man pressed their lengths together, grasping them in hands slicked with body wash. They thrust together with primal need, panting, kissing hard on lips, jaws, necks, wherever they could reach.

Hakyeon grasped Caleb’s tight ass with one hand, pulling him closer, the other threaded into his soft brown hair, falling into his eyes from the water streaming over them, and whimpered against his neck, “Yes, oh God, I’m close. I’m so close. I’m—” He came hard between their bodies, his head hooking over Caleb’s shoulder, fighting just to keep his knees from giving out. The other caressed his back gently, fingertips stroking over the knobs of his spine, his lips sliding over the long slope of Hakyeon’s neck down to his damaged shoulder, where he rested, breathing softly, barely touching. He didn’t ask for more. But after taking a few steadying breaths, Hakyeon saw that Caleb hadn’t finished. Obediently, without speaking, he got down to his knees. The older man groaned, leaning back to the wall.

Later, Hakyeon lay tangled in a sleeping Caleb’s arms. A warm, heavy, post-orgasmic numbness lay over his body. He longed to interpret that feeling as love, or even contentment, but as he looked out the open window at the night sky, green-grey from city lights, devoid of stars, he felt strangely empty (and not just due to the fact that his dinner had once again gone uneaten). The sex had been nice. Really nice. But he also knew that it had just been bodies, and nothing more. He’d been insisting that he loved Caleb for so long that he hadn’t stopped to wonder about who he’d really been trying to convince, his friends, or himself. And while he couldn’t deny that he still found him attractive, he thought, tracing the other’s kiss-swollen lips, and he did care about him, he found himself drifting, wondering how deep his feelings still ran. It was a lonely thought on which to drift to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Ken, stage right  
> Also, Hongbin reveals Hakyeon's secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: discussions of abuse

The next several days passed normally. At least, as normally as Hakyeon’s life had ever been. His college courses were not particularly challenging this semester so he was coasting by with little effort, and his dance classes were, as always, the best part of his day. The pain in his shoulder had significantly lessened, and he was starting to feel less on-edge since Caleb’s moods had remained stable. It wasn’t unpleasant going home at night.

Each afternoon, though, Hakyeon had found himself subconsciously looking up to the window where he’d seen the man with the white hair the day he’d almost gotten himself run over, but every afternoon, he saw nothing. He truly may have thought that Hongbin was right and he’d imagined the whole thing, if it weren’t for the fact that he found himself remembering those dark, slanted eyes at odd moments. The whole thing felt like a dream, and yet, he could never have dreamed up those eyes if he tried. He unfortunately didn’t have any explanations for the phenomenon, either, however, and his life was far too busy for an unsolved mystery. As the days went on, he thought about the man less and less.

After their dance class that Wednesday night, Hongbin and Hakyeon made their way up to their ‘rehearsal room’, actually a black box theatre space on the second floor of the local college’s performing arts building, which had been rented out by their company.

As they pushed their way through the double doors into the hall from the stairwell, a long low moan greeted them, emerging from the direction of the theatre doors. They both froze in their tracks simultaneously.

“Come on, just a little bit more,” a familiar voice said.

“Hey, there’s no shame in stopping if you can’t go any further.”

“No, I can do this. Just push.”

Hongbin snorted as he choked back laughter. The corners of Hakyeon’s lips quivered and he swallowed.

“Well, we are a bit early,” he whispered.

“Should we see who it is?” Hongbin asked, getting out his phone and flipping to camera mode.

“Put that away,” Hakyeon said. “Bad Bean.”

Hongbin giggled. The moaning continued.

They crept up to the door, which was cracked open just slightly, though not far enough to see the occupants. They both attempted to peer through the crack, looking more than a little like elementary school detectives.

“Should we?” asked Hakyeon.

“Hell yes!” hissed Hongbin. He threw open the door, which hit the wall with a crash. Both occupants of the room snapped their heads to the source of the sound. Hongbin and Hakyeon groaned in disappointment.

Their castmate for the musical, Hyungwon, was obviously in agony. On the ground, one leg in front of him, the other splayed behind, he was very close to a full split. _So_ close. Beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead and rolled down the tiny crease between his eyebrows, the mark of his intense concentration. Standing over him was Hyun-woo. His hands rested on the other’s shoulders.

“Aww, man,” Hongbin whined. “It seriously sounded like you two were getting it on. Now I’m going to need to look elsewhere for my hot gossip.”

“Nothing nearly so pleasurable, I’m afraid,” Hyun-woo said, rolling his eyes.

The two new arrivals made their way to the risers to observe; Hakyeon shaking his head in disapproval, Hongbin dimpling in amusement.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Hyun-woo continued with a wince.

“I need this! Just do it!” Hyungwon demanded.

“But you could pull something.”

“It’s _my_ groin,” the young actor argued. He seemed even more determined now that he had an audience. “And I said push. I’m so close!”

“Idiot,” Hongbin giggled behind his hand. Hakyeon agreed.

“You can do it!” another voice called. All four men turned to look. Ken, another actor in the show, with blond hair, a prominent nose, and a perpetually cheerful disposition, had just arrived, backpack slung over one shoulder. He dropped it on the floor and skipped over to take a closer look.

“Seriously, Hyungwon, just stop. You’re close enough. Stretch some more and try again tomorrow,” said Hyun-woo.

“Don’t listen to Pessimistic Paula,” Ken coached. “I believe in you! It’s like six centimeters. You can do it! You’re a star!”

“Say it again,” Hyungwon grunted.

“You’re a star!” Ken shouted.

“Again!”

“You’re a motherfucking superstar!” Ken crowed.

“You’re damn right I am! Push, already!”

Ken threw his hands over Hyun-woo’s and pushed down on Hyungwon’s shoulders. The moment the actor’s testicles touched the ground, he let out an agonized shriek and tipped over onto the hardwood, rolling up into the fetal position, clutching his crotch with both hands and whimpering. The other men burst into laughter, though squeezing their legs a bit tighter together in sympathy.

Ken hummed thoughtfully, a big grin on his face. “Perhaps Hyun-woo is the voice of reason after all.”

“You think?” Hongbin laughed, rolling his eyes.

“You look like a prawn. But...silver lining! You won’t have any trouble hitting your high notes tonight. Vitamin drink?” Ken offered cheerfully, pulling a little yellow bottle from his pocket and placing it beside Hyungwon’s tightly curled abdomen.

By the time the rest of the cast had arrived, the actor had loosened up, popped a painkiller, and chased it with Ken’s vitamin drink. Somehow, that seemed to make him feel good enough to warm up his vocal cords and not spend the rest of rehearsal as a whinging mess.

Hakyeon watched his castmates with incredible fondness. He was, above all, a dancer, but he could sing, too, and it wasn’t his first stage musical. It was his first time, however, being cast in a lead role. It was a small, upstart theatre company, but it was professional (-ish? Based upon the behavior shown today), it would look great on his resume, and best of all, it was _paid_.

When Hongbin had talked him into the audition…well, that’s not entirely accurate. Hongbin had blatantly lied about where they were going, luring Hakyeon to the audition with promises of jajangmyeon, and he’d been too embarrassed to leave without performing once he’d heard his name being called. His “natural grace” and “vulnerability,” mostly inspired by his terror at being thrust abruptly in front of a group of judges, had apparently charmed the director, and to his immense surprise, he received the phone call offering the job two days later.

After the director had called everyone to order and their castmates had begun rehearsing, Ken wandered up into the risers, joining Hongbin and Hakyeon, as none of them were in this song. They greeted him with raised hands, keeping quiet so as not to disturb the scene.

Ken plunked down next to Hongbin and gave him a cheerful grin. “Let’s go out,” he said without preamble, grabbing Hongbin’s arm as if he intended to leave that very moment. Hakyeon’s eyebrows raised, and he looked down at his script, trying not to look as though he were eavesdropping on their date-making.

“What, like you and me?” the younger man asked.

Ken's expression changed, as though that were a thought that hadn’t occurred to him. “Well, sure, we could do that, too. But I kind of meant the group of us. We haven’t had any real cast-bonding time.”

“Hyuuuung,” Hongbin whined, “this hurts.” He peeled the blond’s fingers off his bicep one by one as the older boy’s lower lip jutted out incrementally, with each finger, into a full pout. Hakyeon watched them out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't seen Hongbin flirt so hard in a while. Interesting.

“Go out where?” Hongbin asks finally asks, grudgingly soft for the other’s aegyo.

“You and me? Or all of us?”

“Uhh…all of us?”

“Trigger?” Ken suggests happily, lip popping back in.

“Shh!” The Stage Manager hushed, putting a finger on his lips.

“Sorry,” Ken whispered, making a gesture of zipping and locking his lips.

Hakyeon snorted, lifting his eyes from his script. “As if they’d let us in,” he said quietly.

“Oh, they’ll let us in,” Ken replied, all confidence. He propped his long legs up on the seat in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

“Seriously, though, even if we could get in, which we can’t, because that place is super exclusive, I’d never be able to afford it. And neither could you,” he said to Hongbin.

“I’ll get us in. No cover,” replied Ken.

“Ken, you don’t seem to be hearing me. I couldn’t afford a single drink at Trigger.”

Ken laughed out loud, to the icy glares of several castmates. He leaned over Hongbin to speak more quietly to Hakyeon, not actually intending to be disruptive. “If you need to pay for your own drinks when you’re out clubbing, baby, you’re doing it wrong.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Hakyeon frowned.

“Not when you’re out clubbing, you don’t!” Ken looked scandalized and whispered conspiratorially to Hongbin, “Like I said, doing it wrong.” He paused, pulling back. “Wait, why have you been letting him do it wrong?”

The younger man just dimpled and shrugged, picking up his script. “If you guys want to go, I’ll go. But not tonight, obviously. It would have to be on Friday.”

“Friday’s fine,” Ken grinned.

Hakyeon huffed in return. “Fine. I’m in. But I’m still not convinced you’re going to be able to get us in there.

“Just wear your prettiest bonnets, boys, and leave the rest to me.”

\---

The next day, The Watcher landed on the rooftop of the office flat where he usually rested, across from the dance studio. He willed away his wings, a gesture now second nature to him. They weren't really appropriate for cramped city spaces. Then he smiled. The Dancer had come early today. He had taken a seat at a wrought-iron café table and chair outside of Dream Bean and seemed to be resting comfortably with a magazine and some kind of chilled green drink with a twisty straw. Making sure to focus on remaining invisible to the human eye, The Watcher flitted down to the sidewalk and slipped into the chair opposite. The Dancer didn’t notice.

He examined the Dancer’s face for a while as he sipped his beverage and read an article on a ballet dancer named Misty Copeland. The Watcher read the article, too, upside down, not particularly interested in the American woman he’d never heard of, but curious what held the young man so rapt with attention on the page.

The Dancer’s hand was settled on the table, one slim finger tapping the surface restlessly as he read. The Watcher held out his own hand, yearning to touch, to feel his warmth. He stopped just shy of The Dancer’s fingers, wishing beyond everything that he could close the minute distance between them and take The Dancer’s hand in his.

Tap-tap-tap.

The Dancer continued fidgeting in a manner The Watcher had never seen from him before. The contented look faded from The Watcher's face as he took a closer look. The Dancer appeared tired. He had dark circles under his eyes, which were puffy and slightly red. Had he possibly been crying?

The Watcher looked him up and down. The Dancer wasn’t as put-together today as he usually was. It seemed unkind to think so, but usually when he arrived at the studio, he was dressed well, if comfortably, in a button-down and jeans, his hair well-groomed and shiny, and he may even have a hint of makeup on, just to enhance the overall image. Today it looked as though he had rushed in his preparations for the day. He hadn’t shaved, his hair was hanging over his eyes, and his clothes were creased as though they’d been stored somewhere. Perhaps somewhere not in his home. The hand that wasn’t beating an agitated cadence on the table was tucked against his side and he was holding himself stiffly. Something definitely seemed off.

“Ready to get our asses kicked today?” a voice said cheerfully from behind The Watcher. The Dancer flinched at the words, but then forced a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he looked straight through The Watcher, to greet his friend.

"Oh. Hey, Hongbin."

The Watched whipped around, moving out of the chair like a spirit as the other dancer reached for it, pulling it back, and took his place on the other side of the table.

The angel leaned against the brick wall, feeling glum over his stolen moment. The new arrival, Hongbin, The Dancer had called him, he recognized immediately. The young man was The Dancer’s friend. The one who had pulled him from the street. They went to the same ballet class, frequently arriving or leaving together. He was also a good dancer, The Watched thought, somewhat grudgingly, though not as good as The Dancer, of course. His Dancer.

The other swiped The Dancer’s beverage and took a hearty swallow before grimacing.

“Yah, what the hell is that? Sea water?”

“Green tea latte with a scoop of matcha,” The Dancer replied, turning the page in his magazine.

“It tastes like pond scum.”

“Aww, a little taste of home?”

The other dancer puckered his lips as though he had tasted something sour, and seemed about to make another sarcastic retort when something snapped into place in his expression and he stopped. The Dancer watched him warily.

“Didn’t go home after school?” he asked carefully, pulling a water bottle from his bag.

“No, I…didn’t have time today.”

The Dancer’s tapping lost its rhythm. He raised his eyes to meet his friend’s and immediately his cheeks began heating up. The Watcher didn't know what exactly Hongbin was insinuating, but The Dancer obviously did. 

“Just…don’t,” The Dancer whispered, shaking his head.

“I didn’t say anything,” Hongbin replied, sipping his water, the disapproval radiating off his skin in waves.

“You don’t have to. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. You’re absolutely right. And I will, eventually, but it’s just not that easy.”

“No, it’s very easy. You wait until he goes to work and pack a damn bag. Before he kills you,” Hongbin snarled, slamming his bottle down on the table. The liquid sloshed over the plastic lip.

“He’s not going to ki—”

Hongbin lashed out before he could be stopped, and The Dancer instinctively recoiled. It was obvious his friend would never hurt him, but just as obviously, he’d been taught very well to fear an incoming hand.

“This is what I….”

The hurt showed in Hongbin’s eyes as he grasped the loose neckline of The Dancer’s gray long-sleeved dance shirt and yanked it down off his shoulder.

The Watcher pressed harder into the wall, his breath hissing sharply inward, his fingers gauging into the brick. It crumbled beneath his fingers and the dust and pebbles scattered over the pavement.

The Dancer’s shoulder was a mottled mass of black and purple bruises. Beneath, the flesh was yellow and green where the new damage had overtaken past abuse. Whatever Hongbin had been about to say stuck in his throat when he saw the mutilated skin. The Dancer froze for only an instant, before throwing his friend’s hand off, enraged.

“We’re in public, asshole!”

Hongbin’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard. “He did it again.”

The other dancer obviously hadn’t known about this new attack, but had certainly not been surprised by it, either.

The Watcher knew all the signs of abuse. He’d seen them thousands of times: the way humans would withdraw into themselves, avoiding contact with those they’d once been drawn to, the way they became fearful, suspicious, submissive, avoiding eye contact, or losing their ability to think and respond to the world around them. Or contrarily, some become aggressive, defiant, or hostile. It was hard to tell with humans, how they would react to the trauma, but The Watcher was horrified that he hadn’t realized that His Dancer was being mistreated.

And it should have been obvious. It was completely obvious, now that he knew. The Dancer had been losing weight. The darkness beneath his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep. He’d always looked so beautifully put together, like a picture. Now, he was disheveled; not unwashed, but his body completely covered, even on the warmest days, his eyes hidden behind his overlong fringe, shoulders hunched, hiding from the world, trying to become invisible.

He deserved so much better.

The Watcher could feel his hands beginning to tremble. He was angry. He was _more_ than just angry. Many times, over the course of his life, he had felt saddened, distressed to the point of shaking over the evils of the world, but never before did he have the desire to rip a human apart with his bare hands. How _dare_ someone hurt His Dancer?

He doubted that The Dancer still lived with his parents, so the _he_ that the other dancer had referred to was probably a boyfriend. He’d long ago accepted that The Dancer likely had a lover. How could he not? Someone as strikingly beautiful and talented as he was had to have no shortage of admirers. When the thought first crossed his mind, he’d felt something akin to jealousy, but he’d also been fully resigned to his lot in life. He knew that something between them could never be. The Dancer deserved a human, a wonderful human, that could love him and be sweet to him, and who he could grow old and spend his life with. He’d never once suspected that The Dancer was in danger. The thought made him selfish. He wanted to protect, to guard, to possess. This covetousness was entirely new.

“And he did it on purpose, didn’t he? Didn’t he?” Hongbin repeated, his voice lowering in pain and rage. “To try to keep you from performing.”

The Dancer looked away, tugging on the neckline of his shirt.

“He doesn’t want me going out this weekend. Or performing. Or spending time with you. Or having any other friends, for that matter. Fuck. Fuck Caleb.” The Dancer slammed his fist down on the table, then moaned, sucking on a knuckle that had begun to bleed.

“He did _this_ just because you said you wanted to go out? Please,” Hongbin begged, “Please leave him.” Angry tears were glistening in the younger boy’s eyes, but he blinked them back. “You can stay with me and Chansik. We have a third bedroom in the house. We’d just have to move our computers. He’s already said it’s okay.” He paused a moment, collecting himself. “I’ll protect you. _We’ll_ protect you. You know we’d keep you safe. You’d never have to see him again.”

The Dancer finished adjusting the top to ensure the world couldn’t see the evidence of his mishandling.

“You know I can’t do that. Your house is the very first place he’d go if I disappeared.”

“Easy solution. We keep the door locked and we call the cops,” Hongbin blurted out. “Like I said, we have to get you out of there before he does something you can’t recover from.”

“I told you, he gets rough and he’s an asshole, but he’s not going to kill me.”

“Any time he gets rough, he could kill you!” the other dancer argued. “That time you hit your head could have killed you if you’d passed out and hadn’t stopped the bleeding. Or if, God forbid, you’d hit your temple instead of your forehead. _Or_ , if you’d hit the corner of the counter and not the edge. Any time he pushes you. Any time he hits you, he could kill you. And you need to stop thinking that this is normal. This is _not_ normal!”

“I’ll…think about it.” The Dancer looked skeptical, but Hongbin seemed to acknowledge that was the best he was going to get out of him, at least for this afternoon. He sighed, checking the time on his phone.

“We’re going to be late. We need to get inside.”

The Dancer nodded, tossing his undrunk tea into the nearby trash bin and slung his dance bag awkwardly onto his undamaged shoulder.

“Here, let me hold your—”

The Dancer ignored him, holding the bag with his other hand to ensure it didn’t fall and taking off on his own. Hongbin followed in his wake.

The Watcher made up the last part of the train as they crossed the street, not ready to leave his precious dancer quite yet.

“Did you get the email from Jinwoo-hyung?” Hongbin asked, as they crossed the street.

“No? I haven’t checked my email today,” The Dancer replied, apathetic.

“Rehearsals are being moved to the Performing Arts Center. We’re going to be staying there from now through tech week since they’re renovating the black box.”

“Nice,” The Dancer said, his expression easing a bit, looking pleased at the new arrangements.

The two made their way into the studio. The Watcher didn’t follow them inside but darted his way back up to his window ledge, deep in thought.

There was only one “performing arts center” in this part of town: that belonging to the arts college. He knew where it was. It was suddenly a temptation.

He’d never actually followed any of his charges before. Usually, the act of Watching was just like being stuck on one boring television station. He couldn’t switch to a preferred program, but the humans he would watch would come and go. His eyes would simply glaze over and he’d absorb whatever happened to be going on at the time. It didn’t exactly require brainpower. Oh, sure, over the years, certain humans had caught his interest. He would check in on them from time to time, to see what they had done, the things they made, the changes time had wrought on their faces and bodies. And he’d watched performances before, many of them, slipping into an empty seat in the audience, invisible to human eyes. This wasn’t all that different, was it? He felt reassured at the thought.

He wouldn’t follow The Dancer home. He wouldn’t invade his privacy. As much as he longed to protect his treasured human, that wasn’t something it was in his power to do, as a Watcher. He thought again about his bruised and battered shoulder, the image flashing before his eyes, and had to swallow back another bout of overwhelming anger. But no. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t harm the person who’d harmed The Dancer, and he couldn’t Interfere in The Dancer’s life. He would have to rely on the love and care that his friends showed him. He genuinely hoped that The Dancer considered the offer to move into his other friend’s home. It sounded as though he would be safe there.

He knew His Dancer was talented. He’d seen him in the studio countless times. He wanted to see him grace the stage as well. Despite everything else, this much was innocent. To watch him dance - he could do that. There was nothing forbidden about that. The Watcher rocked back on his heels, deciding. Tonight, he would go to the Performing Arts Center to watch his Dancer rehearse on a real stage. He’d have a nice evening, and no one would ever know. What could possibly happen?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taekwoon and Hakyeon have a mutual friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spring Awakening is a rock musical set in 19th century Germany, and it follows a group of teenagers as they experience their sexual awakening. It's my favorite musical and I would LOVE to see one of the VIXX members perform in it!
> 
> If you're interested in the performance the group is rehearsing in this scene, check it out here: https://youtu.be/mCP5LXdw7NA?t=15s

The Dancer did not choose the spot closest to the window during their afternoon lesson, but The Watcher couldn’t bring himself to feel disappointed, knowing that he was going to watch them on stage in only a few hours. The time seemed to pass unusually slowly, though, as he waited, and it was with a sense of happy anticipation that The Watcher settled himself into a seat in the empty auditorium that night. It was pleasant, the empty rows of velvet seats still buzzing with the energy of past performances. A group of young men and women, including The Dancer and his Hongbin, were seated on the stage under unflattering white lights, listening to what was likely the stage manager. He was a homely young man with thick glasses and an undercut, hands clenched on his hips with the effort of appearing in charge.

“…and for God’s sake, Ho-seok, stop touching the props!” The prop-thief in question hid his face in his hands and one of the girls sitting nearby pushed his shoulder and giggled. “I saw what you did with that stick.”

“Alright,” the stage manager continued. “We’re going to begin today by going in reverse order, starting with The Bitch of Living, followed by a very quick run-through of All That’s Known since I know you’re good on that, Hakyeon. Then Mama Who Bore Me, both the standard and the reprise. We’ll take a brief break, then run all of it together, with dialogue.”

Suddenly, a door slammed somewhere backstage and loud footfalls could be heard, echoing through the auditorium. Every face turned to look back towards the sound and the stage manager sighed, resigned to the distraction. A young man with tousled blond hair dashed out of the wings and onto the stage.

“Sorry!” he announced, winking charmingly, and making overexaggerated movements of sneaking into the group, not appearing remotely sorry at all.

The Watcher froze at the sight of him. It took a moment to register the familiar face, as it was like seeing a ghost – if there were such a thing as ghosts. Knowing there was no such thing, the situation became, unfortunately, very real.

“Jaehwan,” The Watcher whispered, only barely audible even to himself, and certainly not at all to the humans on stage, but the blond’s eyes snapped forward as he dropped down cross-legged into the midst of the group and his gaze locked on that of The Watcher. All of the color drained from the boy’s face and his charismatic smile vanished instantly. He looked like he wanted to run.

“Ken, it’s nice of you to join us,” the stage manager lisped, rolling his eyes, before continuing his instructions to the cast. As he rambled on about yesterday’s choreography mishap, Jaehwan’s eyes never left The Watcher’s own.

He fidgeted in his chair. Should he leave the auditorium? He hadn’t seen Jaehwan in at least seventy years, and to run into him now, here, of all places, felt abnormally wrong. He’d thought Jaehwan was dead. He’d actively mourned him, for a very long time. He’d never stopped, if he were honest. The Watcher had never actually known what happens when an angel falls, but from Jaehwan’s external appearance, at least, it seemed that nothing had happened at all. He still looked exactly the same as he had in 1942, dressed flashily in his blue suit, dancing exuberantly with Wonshik as The Watcher looked on, laughing at their antics. Only the pinstriped suit had been swapped for a college student’s attire of track pants, a tee-shirt, and Nikes, and he’d traded black hair for bleached blond. His face with his laughing brown eyes and his curved lips and his giant nose were all exactly the same as before Jaehwan had broken Wonshik’s heart, and The Watcher’s own. They had been friends. They had been together for millennia. They had loved each other. Or, at least, he had loved Jaehwan, closer than a brother. And Jaehwan had sacrificed them all. He left. He never spoke to them again. And now, here they were, in the same room, as though nothing had changed. Everything had.

Jaehwan must think that the angels were coming for him, The Watcher thought. He must think that The Watcher, his old friend, was now an enemy. That’s the only reason there could be for him to show such a devastated expression, isn’t it? The Watcher could feel stinging in his eyes and he blinked rapidly, willing himself to stay calm, even as he never broke eye contact.

“Okay, let’s start from the top,” the director said from the front row of the auditorium, clapping his hands. “Set up and places.”

Jaehwan tore his eyes away from The Watcher, swallowing hard, and helped the others with dragging chairs into their spots, carefully marked with glow tape on the stage, two rows of three chairs, and took his place in the first row, stage right of The Dancer.

It was not the first time Jaehwan had played at being human. And he’d found his way onto the stage many times over the years. He found it terribly amusing the first time a newspaper reporter, hearing him sing in a cabaret show, told him that he had “the voice of an angel.” Jaehwan had, without an ounce of ego, agreed with him wholeheartedly. The King’s Men of London. Traveling troupes. The Savoy. Even a circus. It was easier before the invention of cameras and video recorders, of course, but so long as he stayed under the radar, so to speak, there was no reason why he wouldn’t have been able to keep performing, The Watcher thought to himself. Except for the fact that he shouldn’t have been spending so much time on earth in the first place.

Jaehwan was a warrior, a Power. Well, he _was_ a Power. He was, quite possibly, the first and only Power to have ever fallen from grace. The Watcher bit down on his lip. As a servant of a God who sent Signs and miracles to those on earth, he couldn’t help but think there was likely a reason he was to encounter Jaehwan now, after all this time. He was slipping. Jaehwan fell for love of a human. And The Watcher had followed a human to this very stage.

For the first time since he’d spotted his old friend, he lifted his head from his folded hands and let his eyes stray back to The Dancer he’d nearly forgotten, lost in his memories. He was sitting at one of the school desks on stage. The other males began dancing and singing around him while he did not react, miming writing on a board. The song seems somewhat suggestive, The Watcher thinks to himself. He furrows his brow, paying attention for the first time. The Dancer’s handsome friend is singing,

 _See, each night, it's like, fantastic_  
Tossing, turning, without rest  
'Cause my days at the piano  
With my teacher and her breasts  
And the music's, like, the one thing  
I can even get at all  
And those breasts! I mean God, please  
Just let those apples fall

Oh.

The group bursts into the chorus,

_It’s the bitch of living…_

The Watcher’s eyes pop open wide and they meet Jaehwan’s again. This time, however, the other looks like he’s about to burst into laughter. Now that’s the Jaehwan he remembers.

Two hours later, the rehearsal ends and the actors scatter into the night. The Watcher sees The Dancer and his friend depart together out the main entrance to the theatre, and watches them with a pang of longing, but there is something more important at hand. He heads out the side door, instead, in the direction he’d seen Jaehwan depart only moments before.

The Watcher exits silently into the alley, wondering which way Jaehwan may have gone. He needn’t have bothered. As the door closed behind him, the familiar voice emerges from behind it, “So you and Cha Hakyeon, eh?”

“Pardon?” The Watcher rasped.

“That’s why you came tonight, isn’t it?”

Jaehwan was leaning casually against the graffitied brick wall. “At first, I thought you’d come for me, but I realized quickly how ridiculous that was.” He pulled himself up to standing and took a step towards The Watcher. “If you were coming as a friend, you would have come much sooner. If you were coming as an enemy, you’d have come when I was alone. Or rather, _you_ wouldn’t have come at all. They’d have sent someone who actually stood a chance against me.”

The Watcher shrugged. It was true. He would never be able to stand against a Power in battle. He didn’t know what magic Jaehwan may still have left, after having fallen, but it was obvious he still was immortal, so he must have _something_. But even with all of his own magic, The Watcher likely wouldn’t stand a chance against Jaehwan’s combat skills alone, even if he had no magic to speak of.

“So, I had to ask myself why a Watcher would show up in some nondescript auditorium on a random Thursday. The answer came in the way you were watching Hakyeon. I was just a lucky surprise, wasn’t I?”

The Watcher stared at him blankly, neither confirming nor denying his words. So that was The Dancer’s name. Hakyeon. It was a beautiful name. It suited him.

There was a long pause in which the two immortals merely looked into each other’s eyes, unblinking. A human would have found it unnerving. The angels were soothed by the gesture. It had been a long time since they had looked upon the other, and an open gaze indicated trust and honesty.

“You should come again tomorrow,” Jaehwan said, finally breaking the silence. A twinkle lit his eyes and the corner of his mouth turned up. “We’re going to be rehearsing ‘My Junk’. You might learn something.” He reached into his bag and tossed a small paperback copy of the script at The Watcher. “I’ll need this back,” he grinned, making his way toward the main street.

The Watcher watched him go, then looked blankly down at the book in his hands. The cover was thin blue cardstock and read “Spring Awakening: A New Musical,” Music by Duncan Sheik, Book & Lyrics by Steven Sater. He’d never heard of it.

The angel made his way to the nearby park and settled onto a comfortable boulder in the middle of the pond. It had a dip in the middle that fit his body just right and reminded him of those bean-bag-chair-things that used to be so popular a few years back. Knowing he’d been thoroughly neglecting his work tonight, and not particularly caring for the first time in decades, he reclined back under the stars and read his way through the script.

Based upon what he’d seen of the rehearsal, The Dancer, no, Hakyeon, he thought fondly, was playing the lead role of Melchior. His friend, Hongbin, was a pianist named Georg, and Jaehwan was Hanschen. The character seemed something of a lecher, for all he was a teenaged child, with a scene in the song ‘My Junk’ in which he simulates masturbation. On stage. The Watcher sighed. That explained why Jaehwan thought it was so funny to ask him to return for that particular rehearsal.

Fighting back some uncharitable thoughts about type-casting and trying to hide the smile that came unbidden to his lips, The Watcher tucked the little book carefully into his pocket and made his way back to the east side of the city, to keep Watch through morning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two humans and a fallen angel walk into a club… and things hit the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to be out of town for the holiday weekend. My best friend’s getting married and I’m the Maid of Honor! So only one update this week. It’s a longer one than usual, though, to make up for it. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (The Neo is so close I can almost taste it…)

That morning, Hakyeon swatted at his phone to make the agony of the alarm stop. It fell to the floor with a clatter, where it vibrated, skittering across the hardwood, and continued to blare. Thank God for screen protectors. He moaned, groping for it in increasing desperation, when, finally managing to get his fingers around the case, dragged it back up to bed and tapped the screen repeatedly, where it finally silenced, just in time to drop on his face. That’s when he knew it was going to be a great day.

To make his morning even better, Caleb had managed to sleep through the chaos, and lay sprawled on his back, his snores giving the impression of a warthog with seasonal allergies. There was no way he’d have been able to hit snooze even if he wanted to, with all of the racket coming from the man’s postnasal drip. And it annoyed him even more than usual.

They’d fought again the previous night, Caleb absolutely forbidding Hakyeon from going out dancing with his friends after rehearsal tonight. Hakyeon had been livid, and for once, fought back. The resulting row had left both of them completely hoarse and basically, too exhausted to continue. They both went to bed angry, Caleb forcing in the last word that they would talk about it when Hakyeon got home from rehearsal. (They wouldn’t.) Because he wasn’t going out dancing. (He was.) And things would be better once they talked it out. (It wouldn’t.) And Caleb loved him very much. (Hakyeon really couldn’t give a fuck less.)

He packed his bag with a couple changes of clothes for dance and rehearsal, and topped it with an outfit he knew would make him look like a rock star that night. A blood red shirt that skimmed his body with clean lines and black pants that clung so tight to his butt, the whole upper crust of the city would soon know why he was called Chabootie. Because fuck Caleb and his domineering, dictatorial ideas of how he should be able to push Hakyeon around. Supercilious tyrant. Arrogant prick. He slammed the door on his way out, letting it rattle on its hinges. Hopefully it woke him up.

Fortunately, the rest of the day went by smoothly, once Hakyeon muted Caleb’s increasingly agitated text messages. And he knew there was a time limit on the harassment. He couldn’t call and bother him past 4pm since he was working tonight, and there’s no way they’d let a guy like Caleb into Trigger to chase after him (if Ken actually managed to get _them_ in, of which he was still doubtful).

It felt like only a few short hours later that Hakyeon examined himself in the dressing room mirror as Ken massaged product into his hair. Rehearsal was over and they'd stayed over, to utilize the space for Sexy-Getting-Ready-Time. He’d already allowed the other man to do his makeup and he was currently wearing more than he ever would have applied on his own. He would never admit it to the other actor, but he did a great job – Hakyeon looked freaking phenomenal. Turning his face slightly to the left and right, Ken’s highlighter made his tan skin shine with a radiant golden glow, and the black eyeliner was smoky and mysterious. His deep brown eyes were like black holes – in a good way. They drew you in and wouldn’t let you escape.

Hakyeon had felt slightly blue when they first started. Ken had always been flawless, completely without effort. He doesn’t need to wear any makeup at all, and with the way he looked tonight, he was practically glowing. But now, Hakyeon knew all eyes would be on him instead. It was really quite generous of the other man. He hadn't had to do such a fantastic job. Looking in the mirror at his war paint, he felt powerful. For the first time in a long time.

Ken stopped his careful grooming of Hakyeon’s hair and the stillness drew his attention back to the present.

“Are we finished already?”

“My work here is done. You look gorgeous,” Ken smiled, taking a step back to look over his masterpiece.

“I do, don’t I?”

Ken laughed. “Seriously, Hakyeon, fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck Caleb.”

“You deserve so much better than that eel skin full of shit.”

“I do,” he repeated, not really listening. “I deserve better.”

“And who knows, maybe you’ll meet your dream man tonight.”

Hakyeon snorted, catching that part. “Unlikely, but thanks for the vote of confidence, at least.”

The least thing he needed was to jump out of one relationship and into another man’s arms. That’s exactly what he’d done the last time, and it obviously worked out _so_ well. He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes so hard, they’d likely get stuck pointing back at his brain forever.

“I have a sixth sense about these things,” Ken said smugly.

“Oh? And how should I recognize this prince charming? I wouldn’t want to miss out.”

Ken pressed his fingers to his temples and looked pensive. “Tall and handsome. Dark eyes, but fair hair, I think. Almost white, maybe? I don’t think he’s foreign, though. Handsome, though. Definitely handsome.”

Hakyeon paled. “What did you say?”

“What?” Ken blinked innocently.

“You said…” Hakyeon shook his head. He must be going crazy, reading into things where there was nothing. “Never mind.”

Ken shrugged. “Alright.” Cupping his hands to his mouth he shouted, “Kongbean! You coming or what?”

“Oww,” Hongbin groaned from the doorway. “Do you really have to scream at me? I’m right here.”

“Sorry, I didn’t…..Damn, baby! You look good enough to eat,” Ken exclaimed, giving Hongbin the most blatant elevator eyes Hakyeon had ever seen and prowling towards him, getting into his personal space. “When did you get so sexy?”

“Really? That’s your line?” Honbin cringed, fingers curling. “As it happens, I was always this sexy. You just never noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Ken replied, leaning into Hongbin. The younger man tipped back nervously against the doorframe, and when they were chest-to-chest, Ken whispered something into Hongbin’s ear. He flushed a violent shade of scarlet and giggled, actually giggled, his dimples on full display.

“Do I need to step out?” Hakyeon asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Nope,” Ken replied happily, skipping over to the dressing table to grab his phone. Poor Hongbin looked ready to hyperventilate. “Let’s go, ladies!”

They exited from the side door and into the street, Hongbin and Hakyeon trailing behind Ken like ducklings.

“It’s going to be so embarrassing when they refuse to let us in,” Hakyeon muttered under his breath.

Ken spun around, continuing to walk backwards. “I already told you, they’re not going to turn us away.”

Hongbin grabbed Ken, angling his body so he wouldn’t run into a guy in a suit as he continued to shuffle backward, and guided him easily down the sidewalk. Ken was walking quite gracefully for someone who couldn’t see where he was going. Hakyeon rather appreciated the trust the blond was placing in his new friends.

“How are you so confident that we can get in?” Hakyeon asked. “Do you know the bouncer or something?”

“You could say that,” he grinned. “You just don't have any faith in me. I thought we were friends? My dear, sweet, _stunning_ Hakyeonnie, have I ever steered you wrong?”

“We literally met last week,” said Hongbin with a roll of his lovely doe eyes.

“And I haven’t forgotten Hyungwon’s groin,” Hakyeon added.

The blond laughed. “That wasn’t an error of judgment, though. That was just funny. He was so determined. He would have done it even without the cheer team.”

The sidewalk was growing slightly more crowded as they approached the main street where the bars and clubs were centered. Neon lights illuminated the buildings and pedestrians in an Armageddon of color and Hakyeon soaked in the energy. It had been a long time since he’d gone out, and even longer since he’d gone out without Caleb’s overbearing presence. He never even realized how stifled he’d felt, until he could actually breath again.

Almost outside the venue, Ken spun around again, dragging Hongbin’s arms from his shoulders to his waist, and keeping him pressed against him.

“Wait, the line is there,” Hakyeon said, pointing, as they walked right past the end of it. A couple of girls in dresses barely covering their assets glared.

The blond scoffed. “ _We_ are sexy. We don’t wait in _lines_.”

Hongbin pointed one of his fingers as best he could with Ken keeping his hands clamped on his hipbones. “That guy is sexy and he’s in line.”

“Hey, thanks, cutie,” the guy responded, winking.

Hongbin blushed. Ken gave him a sideways look, memorizing his face, and approached the doormen, both as big and burly as would be expected.

“Mr. Lee,” the one on the left greeted Ken with a big grin, lifting his sunglasses. “It’s been a while. Who are your friends?”

“Also Lee,” he replied, pointing to Hongbin. “And Cha,” he gestured to Hakyeon. Hongbin snatched his hand back once it was free, so Ken grabbed the other one and held it tightly in his own long fingers.

“Mr. Lee. Mr. Cha. A pleasure to meet you.” The doormen both bowed and unhooked the velvet rope to let them enter. They passed right through and stepped into the doorway.

“Oh, and don’t let that guy in,” Ken said, pointing to the guy Hongbin had called cute. “Nothing but trouble.”

“You got it, boss,” said the guy on the left.

“Hey!” Hongbin whined. 

“Boss?” Hakyeon exclaimed.

\----

It was nearly eleven and the party was in full swing. The Watcher couldn’t believe Jaehwan had talked him into this.

Trigger was the hottest nightclub in the city; tonight, quite literally. They brought in an enormous group of pyrotechnics, who were throwing flames high in the air with hands, jets, and breath. The room was filled with smoke and flame, the lights were red and dim, and the music was pulsing and grinding with just enough electronica to make it danceable. Jaehwan was sure to be in his element. The Watcher, not so much. The entire room felt like sex and hate and transcendental euphoria. Or at least, what he assumed all of those things should feel like. It just made _him_ feel awkward. It’s a good thing no one could see him. The angel leaned back against a railing, watching the humans dance. There were some good freestyle dancers, but this modern club music really wasn’t his style. He preferred the more technical art forms.

“You want to see your human _really_ dance?” Jaehwan had asked, grinning wickedly.

“He’s not my human,” Taekwoon had replied, giving the canned response expected of him.

His voice sounded much better. He’d been practicing singing to himself as he Watched, songs from the musical, mostly, and his voice was returning. It was still soft, airy, but was no longer rough. He could be heard, when he wanted to be. The fallen Power had just laughed at him.

“Isn’t he, though?”

He’d given The Watcher instructions on where to be and when, promising he’d never seen The Dancer as wild and free as he would be that night. Jaehwan knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t be able to resist. It was too much for anyone to bear, even a Watcher. 

He saw them the moment they entered. He'd been waiting. The humans’ eyes were awestruck as they took in the scene for a very brief moment, then The Dancer’s expression morphed from one of breathless delight, to a sort of fierce determination. He grabbed Hongbin by the front of the shirt and dragged him into the writhing mass of bodies on the dancefloor.

“What about me?” Jaehwan’s voice could be heard just above the din, and The Watcher smirked, moving down the railing a bit, so he could hover just a bit closer.

For several songs, The Watcher could do nothing but focus on his breathing. Hakyeon was incredible. The music was abrasive, and he moved his hips in rhythm, throwing his arms in the air, writhing and flexing, contorting his body, first with Hongbin, then with a stranger, then all by himself in the center of the room, all eyes on him. It may not have been within his usual sphere of dance, but by the stares he was gathering, it was certainly alluring to the others as well. There was an undeniable sensuality in his movements. He moved as though drawing in a lover.

Before The Watcher knew it, though, Jaehwan was one of the observers, and his jaw hung open. Apparently The Dancer had surprised even him. Hakyeon batted his eyelashes and cocked a finger at him, drawing him near. “Ken” slid a hand onto his side and The Dancer put his arms up around his neck. The Watcher flinched.

“I barely recognized you,” Jaehwan grinned, fingering a lock of The Dancer’s hair. “You move like a living flame.”

Hakyeon did not respond. He just closed his eyes and moved against the fallen angel, oblivious.

Jaehwan was able to move; The Watcher would give him that. He didn't have any of the endearing awkwardness he would have expected. The Dancer was nearly as tall as he was, so he had no reason to try to make himself smaller, and he had enough confidence to know what to do with his arms, and how to lead so that The Dancer’s toes never got stepped on. He lifted Hakyeon from the ground easily, twirling him as though he were flying amongst the flames, and he laughed, holding his arms out.

The Dancer looked happy. The Watcher felt…jealous. He was jealous. And it shouldn't have been a surprise. It was perfectly obvious what Jaehwan was doing, and just as obvious as to why. He’d always loved to poke and prod at his friend, just to try to get him to break his mask of calm, and as he ran his palm smoothly down Hakyeon’s spine, his eyes flickered up, very briefly, just to check The Watcher’s reaction. He wanted to hit him. He should probably leave, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Jaehwan spun The Dancer so he was facing away, and pressed against his back, one arm across his chest, their bodies flush. Just then, the crowd briefly parted and The Dancer’s face fell as his eyes met Hongbin’s. He was alone by the bar. Their gazes met for only the briefest of moments, but The Watcher could easily read their unspoken exchange.

“You look flushed,” Hakyeon commented, turning back around to face his friend.  “Should we get a drink?”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

They made their way over to the bar, towards Hongbin, who lit up, and The Watcher couldn’t see them anymore from his spot on the rail. Bad angle. He waited patiently, leaning back against the shiny wooden surface and watched the bedlam on the dance floor. Without The Dancer taking center stage, there wasn’t much worth looking at.

“So, what do you think?” Jaehwan appeared behind Taekwoon, who sighed loudly.

“You only wanted me to come here so you could try to make me jealous, right? Congratulations, you succeeded. Can I go now?”

“I didn’t, actually. I had a far more entertaining idea. You know I love you, right, Taekwoon? I don’t want to make you unhappy. I want you and your secret love to be together.”

“We can’t be together, and you should know that better than anyone. Jaehwan, just let me—”

Jaehwan threw a hand on Taekwoon’s arm, bare, in his tee-shirt, “Of course you can. You just need a little helping hand.”

“What are you talking abou—”

The Dancer stepped out from around the corner, holding a drink in each hand. 

“Ken, you didn’t say if you wanted it with a lemon or a lime…” his voice trailed off, though his mouth stayed open.

It took a moment before Taekwoon realized that The Dancer wasn’t looking at Ken anymore. He was looking at _him_. The room seemed to fall silent as he took in nothing but The Dancer before him. He had a pink flush against his tan cheeks, his bangs damp with exertion. He was lithe and tall and painfully beautiful, and close, so close. His eyes were a sky full of stars. The Watcher took a step back, only to run into Jaehwan’s chest.

No, no, no, this can’t be happening. Jaehwan had deliberately revealed him. In front of a human. _His_ human. The fallen angel’s hand tightened on Taekwoon’s arm. Taekwoon would have been absolutely furious if he wasn’t so desperately scared.

“I knew you were real,” Hakyeon whispered. He moved closer to The Watcher, who couldn’t move away, no matter how badly he wanted to, with Jaehwan’s magic holding him in place, preventing his escape.

“You recognize me, too, don’t you? I thought you were going to jump. I was so scared. What were you doing up there?” The human began to babble.

“I—” Taekwoon stammered, not knowing what to say. He couldn’t lie, but he couldn’t exactly tell the truth, either. He looked back at Jaehwan with wide, frightened eyes.

“Oh, you two haven't met already, have you?” Jaehwan lied smoothly. “Hakyeon, this is my old friend, Leo. Leo, this is Cha Hakyeon, the star of the show I’m performing in.”

Taekwoon swallowed, letting his hair fall into his eyes. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said quietly.

“Wah, so formal,” complained Jaehwan, grabbing the drink from Hakyeon’s right hand. “Oh, no, this is awful,” he said, after two large swallows. He swapped for the drink in his left.

“Ooh, that's much better. Well, good. I need to go find a certain pretty Bean before he gets abducted from me right from under my nose. You two have a little chat. No disappearing into the night until you’ve made friends,” he warned Taekwoon, waggling a finger at him. “And you,” he directed at Hakyeon, who was so stunned, staring at Taekwoon’s face, he hadn’t even noticed his drink go missing. He tapped the tip of his nose. “You play nice. My Leo is very shy.”

“What?” Hakyeon was so startled he jumped, and his drink went crashing to the floor. The glass immediately shattered and a wave of liquid cascaded over Taekwoon’s shoes. Jaehwan just laughed, easily disappearing onto the crowd, presumably in search of Hongbin.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Let me get that for you.” Hakyeon frantically grabbed at some napkins from the nearby table and dropped down to the floor, squatting inelegantly and dabbing at his shoes. It took seeing The Dancer at his feet to snap Taekwoon out of his near-catatonic state.

“No, don’t do that. It’s nothing.” He crouched down, too, and pulled Hakyeon back to standing, his hand only on the human’s sleeve, extraordinarily careful not to touch his skin.

“I…um, can I…” he trailed off, trying to think of what he’d seen humans do in these situations. “Can I buy you another drink?” he asked triumphantly, finally thinking of an appropriate thing to say.

“But I just ruined your shoes,” Hakyeon wailed. “I should be buying you the drink.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Taekwoon assured him, patting the human awkwardly on his sleeve. “Just wait here. What would you like?”

“Um…a Chewy Jelly?” said Hakyeon, more of a question than an actual response.

Taekwoon had absolutely no idea what that might be, but he memorized the name, repeating it to himself. “You sit here. I’ll be right back,” he promised, turning towards the bar, and fighting the overwhelming urge to slap himself in the forehead. He shouldn’t be buying a human a drink. He should be fleeing out the door and taking off to some foreign country where The Dancer would never see or think of him again. He knew what he should be doing. But he knew he wouldn’t do it.

When he got to the bar, the female bartender sidled up to him immediately, ignoring patrons who had been waiting much longer. She gave him a winning smile. 

"Where do you keep your wings, angel?" she asked.

"Uhh...." 

Taekwoon felt sharp threads of panic running through his body, wondering how many people he could possibly be revealed to tonight, before something in her laugh made him realize she wasn't being literal. 

"Wait, was that a pick-me-up line?" he asked. 

She nearly choked, laughing. "Oh my God, you are _precious_. Keep it up and you can have anything you want."

Taekwoon frowned for a second, trying to remember what Hakyeon had asked for, then blurted it out. The bartender smirked.

“You don’t look like a chewy jelly type of guy. For your date?” she asked.

Taekwoon blushed and tried to ignore the date comment. “What type of guy do I look like?”

He actually was curious. Humans had never looked at him before and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked the phenomenon. People kept staring. He knew his wings weren’t showing (he'd checked when she used her pick-me-up line), but maybe he was doing something wrong? Or was he just giving a vibe as ‘other’?

“You? You look like a high-class type of guy. Something not too fruity, but not straight liquor, either. Hmm...I know.” She dashed off, mixing the drinks. Taekwoon stood awkwardly, wallet in hand. The notes inside had prominent bends to them from being stuffed in his back pocket for who knows how long. He’d never had any reason to use it, but Wonshik had encouraged him to have props “just in case of an emergency.” He supposed being forcibly outed in a public space by a fallen Power qualified as an emergency, and was suddenly grateful.

A pretty woman in a red dress so tight, it looked as though it had been painted on, touched Taekwoon’s sleeve and smiled warmly at him.

“Uhh…sorry,” he said, stepping aside quickly to let her reach the bar. In his haste, he wrenched his arm from her grip. She gave him an odd look, as though she were offended, and stalked back to her gaggle of girlfriends, who glared at him. Taekwoon stared back blankly until they looked away.

Bewildered, he turned back to the bartender, who arrived with a drink in each hand, one a clean bright yellow and one a milky lavender. He recognized the yellow one as the drink Jaehwan had stolen. 

“The chewy jelly for your friend and an Aviation for you, gorgeous.”

Taekwoon flushed. “What do I owe you?”

“It’s on me,” she replied. “Come see me again.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” he stammered, leaving a 50,000 won note on the shiny wooden countertop, anyway. As he weaved his way back across the floor, carefully balancing the two beverages and being sure not to touch anyone, he noted even more humans staring at him this time around. It made him want to melt straight into the floor and disappear.

The Dancer looked bored, but when Taekwoon arrived back at the table he’d come to occupy, he smiled. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming back.”

The angel didn’t know what to say. He sat down at the chair across from Hakyeon and pushed his glass towards him.

“Thank you for the drink,” The Dancer said, taking a sip. “What did you get? It’s pretty.”

Taekwoon looked down at the glass in front of him as though he’d just noticed it for the first time. The drink was actually very pretty: a martini glass filled with purple liquid, pale at the rim and fading down to a darker shade at the bottom where a cherry rested.

“An Aviation,” Taekwoon parroted the bartender.

“What’s in it? I’ve never heard of it before.”

“I’m not sure, actually. The lady recommended it.” The Watcher paused. “Would you like to try it?”

That was polite, right? It wasn’t strange, as he hadn’t drunk from it yet, so he wouldn’t be giving The Dancer germs. Not that angels carried germs, anyway, but The Dancer didn’t know that. He watched anxiously as Hakyeon smiled, nodded, and lifted the glass to his lips.

Taekwoon swallowed hard. He didn’t know what he was feeling. Just watching The Dancer lift the glass in his elegant fingers was an experience, but watching the liquid flow past his full lips, the way he closed his eyes with pleasure at the taste, it was more sensual than he could have ever imagined.

“It’s so good!” Hakyeon exclaimed. “I thought it would be fruity, but it’s actually floral. Try it.”

The angel should have expected that, but was still caught off guard. Of course if he arrived with a drink, he would be expected to drink it. He’d never drunk anything in his life and didn’t have the slightest clue what to expect. Jaehwan had been drinking, though, so he supposed that meant that he _could_. He took a deep breath, lifted the glass, and as he raised it to his mouth, it was immediately swiped from his hand by a grinning Jaehwan, who tilted it back into his own mouth.

Hongbin, who had been trailing behind, gasped. “That was rude, hyung.”

Taekwoon just gaped.

“Sharing is caring. And Leo loves me. Don’t you, Leo?” Jaehwan set the glass down on the table with a smirk and chewed on the cherry happily. “Good choice, by the way. Are you two getting along?”

“Yes, thanks,” said Hakyeon, rather dryly. Taekwoon couldn’t comprehend what had changed his mood. He’d seemed perfectly happy a moment before. He bit on his lower lip.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Hongbin, Leo. Leo, Hongbin.”

They nodded at each other briefly before both looked straight back to Hakyeon. Hakyeon was looking at Hongbin. They had another short, silent conversation with just their eyes, when Hongbin smirked. “I get the feeling we’re not wanted, Ken-hyung.”

“I think you may be right. Shall we dance some more?” he asked, holding a hand out. Hongbin took it, all but dragging the older back to the dance floor.

Hakyeon played with the straw in his glass for a moment. “So, would you like to dance with me?” he asked hopefully.

Taekwoon started. If he hadn’t been what he was, he probably wouldn’t have even heard the other man, his voice had been so quiet.

“I don’t really know how to dance,” he said, hunching his shoulders to hide his flushed face.

“It’s easy,” Hakyeon prompted, obviously encouraged by the fact that he didn’t get an outright refusal. “I can teach you.”

He grabbed Taekwoon’s hand before the angel could see it coming and dragged him to his feet. The instant their skin touched, though, the angel felt a jolt run through his body. He gasped, frozen solid, as the emotions flooded through him. Hakyeon’s mouth fell open and he looked down at their clasped hands. His eyes were wide with alarm.

“What are you?” The Dancer whispered, just before he collapsed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Wild Sanghyuk appears, Wonshik makes a reappearance, And things happen at the same time - more or less.

“Is he _drunk_?” Hongbin asked.

Jaehwan had dashed to The Watcher’s side the moment Hakyeon hit the floor, a bewildered Hongbin in his wake.

The Dancer was in a seated position on the floor, supported by The Watcher's one arm, his head lolling back. Their hands were still entangled, and "Leo" was silently staring into Hakyeon's face as though willing him to wake. His face was completely unreadable, still and silent in his panic and desperate wish for The Dancer to wake up - wake up - wake up.

“He’s probably just overheated,” Jaehwan lied smoothly, his eyes on Taekwoon and Hakyeon’s entwined fingers. “Unexpected complication. We should probably take him home, right? You know where he—” his voice stopped abruptly. Both angels looked at each other as they felt a shiver, a sort of tingle. Another of their kind was close. Jaehwan gave a heavy shudder as though he'd been suddenly electrocuted. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

Hongbin blanched. “What? How can you go? We have to get Hakyeon to the hospital or something.”

“No, I have to go. Now. I’m sorry, I can’t explain. I’ll see you later,” He looked around in a panic, then didn’t so much run as disappear into thin air. The Watcher knew why barely a moment later. Hongbin had dashed off into the crowd after him, shouting “Ken,” so he didn’t see the Malakhim materialize behind The Watcher’s back.

Wonshik’s face was haunted and he looked around the club as though he was searching for something. “What has happened? I felt your fear, and I thought I felt…” He stopped immediately as his eyes fell on the human resting in The Watcher’s arms.

In Hakyeon’s musical, he sings a song that begins, “There’s a moment you know…you’re fucked.”

Yeah…

As Taekwoon looked at Wonshik’s face, which had gone from inquisitive to very carefully blank, he knew he was in a world of trouble. He was, as the humans would say, totally fucked.

“What did you do?”

“It was an accident.”

“An accident…” Wonshik’s voice was as dry as sand and equally as irritable.

“An accident,” The Watcher repeated stubbornly. “He touched my hand.”

“Why weren’t you covered if you were in close proximity to humans? Why are you visible? Why were you here in the first place?”

“To watch him dance.”

The Malakhim sighed heavily as The Watcher delicately stroked the back of The Dancer’s hand with his thumb. Hakyeon’s skin was hot to the touch and very soft. He released it finally and brought his hand back to cradle Hakyeon’s head. His hair was soft, too.

“What’s wrong with him?” The Watcher asked Wonshik. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

Wonshik knelt down beside him and listened close to his chest. “It was probably just the shock. Have you ever touched anyone before?”

“Only you and Jaehwan.”

Wonshik heaved another deep breath and stood back up, leaning on the rail.

“That’s why, then. That was a whole lot of celestial energy to take all at once. He’ll be fine, though. He just needs to sleep and he’ll wake up feeling like he has a hangover.”

Hongbin ran back. “Is he okay, Leo? Ken really took off. I can’t believe the nerve of that…who’s this?”

“I’m Wonshik, Leo’s best friend. Nice to meet you…?” He paused, waiting for a name.

Nice save, The Watcher thought.

“Lee Hongbin,” he said, voice filled with worry. “Hakyeon’s best friend.”

“The good news is, Hongbin, his vitals are all fine. He’s just exhausted and we need to get him home so he can sleep.”

"Are you a doctor or something?"

"No, I never graduated, but I took several years of classes. Believe me, he's okay. He just needs rest, to drink some water when he wakes up, and he'll be fine."

“Thank God,” Hongbin slumped, releasing a load of tension he didn’t seem to realize he’d been holding.

Taekwoon caressed his fingers lightly over a bump on the back of Hakyeon's skull. He'd entirely forgotten about that time Wonshik went to a university. It was part of his guardianship of a human, trying to stay close to them. He'd led the other student to the information that helped him to learn and diagnose his own rare condition, which saved his life. It was a nice bit of divine intervention.

“We can take my car,” Wonshik said, helping The Watcher pull Hakyeon to his feet. He swayed a bit, and The Watcher had to support him carefully around his waist, but his eyes fluttered.

“Leo?” Hakyeon focused his eyes for just a moment, gazing at the angel with something like wonder, and The Watcher’s heart thudded erratically against his ribcage.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he whispered to his dancer.

Hakyeon rested his head on The Watcher’s shoulder and relaxed. Wonshik, doing only a passable job at hiding his irritation, guided the three of them to a black sedan parked a block away.

The Watcher gently assisted Hakyeon into the back seat and slid in next to him. Hongbin looked severely wrong-footed. “Shouldn’t I stay with him?”

“But you need to direct Wonshik. We don’t know where he lives,” The Watcher replied, rather proud of himself for his quick thinking.

Looking mollified, Hongbin slipped into the front seat, rubbing his palms over the smooth leather. They must have been quite clammy, as they made a squeaking sound.

The car looked very expensive, The Watcher thought. He wondered vaguely if Wonshik actually owned it or if it was being “borrowed.” He didn’t care enough to ask.

Hongbin and Wonshik didn’t really speak to each other apart from the brunet’s instructions on which way to turn, though they looked at each other sporadically out of the corner of their eye, Taekwoon noticed. At some point, Wonshik flipped on the radio to a hip-hop station, but kept the sound low. None of them commented on it, and Wonshik just bobbed his head lightly to the beat as they drove into an eastern neighborhood.

Hakyeon lay resting on The Watcher’s shoulder. His eyes were closed, long dark lashes fanned out across his cheeks, and his breathing was steady. Taekwoon very slowly allowed his own head to move downward, resting his cheek upon the young man’s hair. He smelled nice. Earthy. Something with sandalwood and vetiver and his own light scent of sweat from his enthusiastic dancing. The Watcher was overwhelmed with the depth of the emotion coursing through him. The angel’s breath hitched and his eyes burned. Something had irreversibly changed within him. It was more than the sweet contentment he felt when in the arms of his friends. It was more than the joy of art or music or dance raised within him. It was a warmth that centered in his chest and created a knot in his belly that he didn’t quite understand, and he felt both exultation and desperate longing in equal measure. He could feel Wonshik’s disapproving stare in the rearview mirror and he raised only his eyes to glare back. The other angel looked back to the road.

He'd always Watched from a distance. He’d never imagined he’d be able to touch the beautiful dancer. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought The Dancer would turn to him for comfort, call his name (even if it wasn’t his real name, it felt real enough when The Dancer spoke it), and as close as he was, in the gently vibrating automobile, smoothly pulling to a stop in front of a boxy gray apartment building, he needed him so much closer.

“His is on the third floor,” Hongbin said. “But there’s an elevator.”

It didn’t really matter, but The Watcher pretended to be relieved because he assumed it would probably tire a human, based on Hongbin’s reaction. They shuffled Hakyeon out of the car. He was able to stay standing on his own but leaned heavily against Taekwoon’s side as they waited for the lift. The angel stiffened as the human wrapped both arms around his waist, nestling his head against his collar bone. Hongbin stared. There didn’t seem to be any accusation in the boy’s eyes anymore, but there was concern.

“I have to warn you of something. And to ask you a favor,” the young man said to the others as they entered the elevator and pressed the number three. The Watcher didn’t respond, focused on Hakyeon’s face. Wonshik nodded for him to continue. “The light was on in his apartment. I could see it from outside. That means that his boyfriend is awake and waiting. He’s a complete asshole and when we get there, he’s going to be seriously pissed off. So, if Hakyeon appears to be in danger, can I count on you to back me up and get him out so I can take him to my house instead?”

The Watcher inhaled sharply. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten that The Dancer’s lover had been violent towards him, but he was so focused on the new sensation of being able to touch Hakyeon that he didn’t realize that he was delivering the boy directly into harm’s way, either. He could feel the rage setting into his bones. He could still vividly recall the bruises littering The Dancer’s shoulder. He swiped his thumb delicately over the place the flesh had been damaged. He wondered what it looked like now. It was probably good that he couldn’t see.

“We’ll assess the situation when we get there,” Wonshik said. He didn’t make any promises to Hongbin, but Taekwoon knew his friend would never allow any hurt to come to the human while he was there. It was a comfort that The Watcher may not have to separate this boyfriend’s head from his body tonight, after all. He still wanted to.

The elevator pinged at the third floor and Hongbin led them to the door marked 302.

“Here we go,” he said, and knocked.

The Watcher, still holding Hakyeon chastely, thought he may have to reevaluate the way he looked at Hongbin. His chin lifted, back ramrod straight, he waited for his enemy like a soldier at the front. Until now, he’d thought of him as generally attractive, and obviously loyal to his friend, but now he had to add “brave” to the list of attributes. He couldn’t imagine how much courage it took to knock on the door of a man whom he knew to be violent, with only two strangers at your back and no weapon but your own fists and anger to protect you.

The door opened. A young man with brown hair and a nose to rival Jaehwan’s appeared. His expression, which was stormy at first glance, took in the sight of Hakyeon, struggling to remain standing and morphed into shock.

“What the fuck happened?”

“He passed out,” Hongbin said bitterly. There was obviously no love between the two.

“He just needs sleep,” Wonshik supplied. “Can we put him to bed first, then talk?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“My name is Kim Wonshik and this is Jung Leo. Who the fuck are you?” he asked pleasantly.

The man shook his head. “Caleb Johnson,” he grunted, reluctantly moving aside to allow them to enter.

The apartment was small enough to be deemed “cozy” without being completely cramped. At the center of the living space was an ugly flowered sofa, which dominated the space and faced a large TV and several gaming systems on the shelves beneath. There was a squashy-looking blue armchair next to a bookcase. Taekwoon longed to look at the titles, to see what stories played in his human’s imagination, but perhaps there would be time for that another time.

Hongbin and Caleb each took one of Hakyeon’s elbows and led him to the bedroom. As he was taken from Taekwoon’s side, The Dancer let out a soft whimper that broke his heart. The humans didn’t seem to think anything of it, but Wonshik cast his eyes skyward, praying for patience. Taekwoon simply fought back his urge to follow, to hold, to protect, clenching his fists at his side. He stared across the room at a window that opened up to the street below, several slightly-wilted potted plants on the sill.

Wonshik placed a hand on the back of Taekwoon’s neck. “ _I know it hurts, but you can’t. Just stay here. We’ll be leaving soon. It’ll be easier when you’re away.”_ Wonshik’s gentle words inside of his head were meant to be soothing, but Taekwoon felt a spike of anxiety run through him at the thought of leaving Hakyeon alone with Caleb.

“Shit,” Wonshik whispered. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”

Didn’t what? Taekwoon didn’t get the chance to ask, as Hongbin and Caleb emerged from the bedroom, arguing in undertones.

“You can’t just forbid him from doing things. Don’t you see how manipulative and controlling that is?”

“And if he’d actually listened to me, he wouldn’t be sick right now, would he?”

“That’s completely beside the point! It’s his life, Caleb. He’s a grown man; he can make his own decisions!”

“Bad ones.”

“They’re his to make, good or bad!” Hongbin’s voice was getting louder. “And speaking of bad decisions, I swear to God, if you lay a hand on him again—”

“What are you going to do about it, faggot?”

“Would you listen to the words that are coming out of your own mouth? You’re a complete and utter fucking caricature of yourself and you don’t even know it!”

Caleb noticed the two angels standing in the doorway and gawked. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

“We’re Hongbin’s ride home,” Wonshik said calmly.

“And you, do you even fucking talk?” he demanded of Taekwoon.

The Watcher’s eyes were cold. “No.”

“What the fuck ever. Get out.”

“I’m not leaving until I know Hakyeon is safe,” Hongbin said flatly.

“He’s fucking fine. I’m so mad I don’t even want to look at him right now.”

“Tell him to call me in the morning.”

“He’ll do it anyway, no matter what I tell him.”

As they headed for the door, Caleb was tossing throw pillows onto one side of the couch and dragging the gray flannel blanket off the back. Feeling only somewhat reassured, The Watcher allowed himself to be led down the hall. He had to trust that Hongbin wouldn’t have left if he didn’t think he could.

Wordlessly, they took up the same seating arrangement in the car. Taekwoon could still smell the lingering ghost of Hakyeon’s warm scent. It made the longing that much worse. He considered burying his face in the seat, but Wonshik would never let him live it down, and thus far, the evening had gone somewhat better than expected. He wasn’t going to take it for granted that Wonshik hadn’t choked the life out of him.

“How long has this been going on, Hongbin?” Wonshik asked.

He didn’t have to elaborate. The human knew exactly what he was referring to. He sighed.

“About a year. It’s not all the time, and there have been periods where things were good between them, but its gotten worse…lately.” He seemed hesitant to go into detail, but perhaps the stress of keeping his friend’s secrets had gotten to be too much, or maybe he was just worried from the events of the night, but once he started talking again, he couldn’t seem to stop.

“About three months ago, they had a fight. A bad one. Caleb had cheated on Hakyeon with an ex-girlfriend. Hakyeon is actually the only guy Caleb has ever been with. Probably why he called me a faggot when he’s just as bi as I am. Anyway, Hakyeon said he wanted to break up and Caleb just about lost his mind. He threatened to kill himself if Hakyeon left. He went in the bathroom and grabbed a razor, Hakyeon tried to stop him, and he shoved Hakyeon hard. He hit his head on the bathroom counter and was bleeding really heavily. When he woke up in the hospital, Caleb was the perfect picture of contrition. He cried and begged. He was so sorry, he could have killed them both, Hakyeon was too good for him, he didn’t deserve to be with him anymore, but if he’d just give him one more chance… Hakyeon completely fell for it, he was so scared that Caleb had almost taken his own life because of him. He convinced himself that the cheating was his fault, that he wasn’t a good enough boyfriend, that he needed to be better, spend more time at home, be with Caleb more. He stopped spending time with friends. He basically only left the house to go to school and dance class. He started getting depressed, and Caleb senses that he is losing him. So he keeps getting more and more controlling, then more violent when Hakyeon tries to break free from the control. The fights have gotten more physical, and it’s like he’s forcing him to stay by any means necessary. I keep telling him to leave before he gets an injury that he can’t recover from, but now he’s scared that Caleb might come after me, too, so that’s holding him back. And in the meantime, Caleb’s made him completely reliant on him financially, too, and it’s just a fucking nightmare. I don’t know what to do. Turn left here.”

Wonshik turned around the corner and tapped a fingernail against his teeth, thoughtfully.

“Do you think he’d leave if he had a safe place to stay?”

Taekwoon perked up.

“I don’t know. He’d be way more likely to consider it, though.”

“I might have an idea,” Wonshik said. He gestured to a cell phone suctioned to the dashboard. “If you plug your number into my phone, you can shoot a text to yourself, so you’ll have mine. I’ll make a couple of calls in the morning and will let you know what I find out.”

Hongbin did so, then glanced to the back seat. “Can I have yours as well?”

“I don’t have a phone,” The Watcher said quietly. He’d never needed one. He wouldn’t have the slightest clue even how to operate it.

“Ugh,” Wonshik moaned, getting into his acting. “I keep telling you that you need to join the 21st century, Leo. You’re getting one this week and that’s final.”

“It’s a waste of money,” Taekwoon said, slouching down in the seat. “No one will call me.”

“Don’t be like that,” Hongbin said encouragingly. “You’re a nice guy. I’m sure people will call.”

The Watcher nearly laughed. The boy thought it was a self-esteem issue. It was cute how supportive he was, when he barely knew him. What a sweetheart.

“When he gets it, he’ll text you,” Wonshik promised. Taekwoon just closed his eyes, conceding defeat.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up in front of Hongbin’s building. He bid them farewell with thanks, and Taekwoon reluctantly relocated to the front seat. Wonshik began to drive.

“Where are we going?”

His friend’s face was grim.

“We’re going to visit the Seer.”

\---

They'd driven for about 20 minutes before The Watcher broke the silence.

“Who’s the Seer?” Taekwoon asked, without a whole lot of actual interest in the answer.

“He’s an Ancient. Wise. Powerful. More powerful than any of us. I have a question I need answered and he can answer it.”

“Why would he bother?”

“He may not. It all depends on what kind of a mood he’s in,” he said grimly.

Wonshik turned the car down a dark alleyway. “Good enough,” he said, parking.

They both exited and Wonshik locked the vehicle with an echoing beep. He swept aside the veil. “After you.”

Taekwoon sighed and stepped through. It had been so long since he’d traveled Beyond, it was rather uncomfortable. He felt like his skin didn’t fit quite right and felt itchy, like insects crawling. It was a very unpleasant sensation overall, and it was with relief that he stepped out on the other side, into a forest. A small house stood in a clearing, the sun shining brightly overhead. It was a neat red brick ranch with blue shutters and a white porch, complete with a rocking chair and potted plants. A swing hung from an oak tree, and a little signpost in the yard said “Welcome” in about twenty languages, including Celestial, and was that Galifreyan?

“Where are we?” Taekwoon was slightly more curious now. The house of the Seer wasn’t what he’d expected.

“Connecticut, I think?”

Taekwoon gave him a stony glare. " _When_ are we?"

Wonshik shrugged. "The same time. More or less."

He led the way up the path and opened the white aluminum screen door without any sort of preamble, directly into the Seer’s wood-paneled living room. There were two boys inside, sitting on a sofa of ugly green and gold tapestry, only one of whom was playing a video game. He had a red scarf tied over his eyes, completely blind. The other turned to greet them, smiling in welcome.

“Yah! Jinhwan! At the screen, at the screen! No! Alien bastard!” he shouted as his hunter died a grisly death. “Why did you look away! I already knew they were here.”

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” the boy said, turning back to facing the tv screen.

The only thing they had in common was that they both looked young, young enough to be teenagers. The one who greeted the angels was small, with light brown hair and pretty eyes in an elfin face. The other was extraordinarily tall and lanky, even bigger than Wonshik and Taekwoon, if the length of his legs, crossed on the coffee table, were any indication. It wasn’t easy to discern the way he looked, seeing as half his face was covered in blood red cloth, but he had a squared jaw, a dimpled chin, and a wide mouth that quirked as though he smiled easily and often.

He tossed the video game controller on the couch cushion and Jinhwan turned back around to look at them.

“Welcome, Malakhim. And Wonshik, it’s been a while.”

Wonshik bowed. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Sanghyuk. But I've actually brought a Watcher with me today.”

Sanghyuk smiled wryly. “I’m afraid not. I felt two Malakhim enter and two are standing in front of me. Your friend, Jung Taekwoon, seems to have abandoned his post and proclaimed himself a Guardian.”

Jinhwan looked stunned.

Taekwoon frowned and said, “How do you know my name?” just as Wonshik simultaneously burst out, “I knew it! You said you didn’t!” He jabbed his finger into the other angel's chest.

“I didn’t say anything,” Taekwoon argued. “I didn’t even know what you were accusing me of.” He turned back to The Seer. “What do you mean I’m not a Watcher anymore?”

The corner of the Seer's mouth quirked as though he were dealing with someone extraordinarily stupid. “Do you want to be?”

Taekwoon thought about it. Did he want to be God’s eyes in the world, the way he’d always been? It felt frightening and strange to admit to himself that he did not, and yet, he knew immediately that was the truth. Everything in his entire world had suddenly become Hakyeon, and the desire to protect him outweighed all other desires now. He knew now what the Seer had meant. 

“Be careful, child,” the Seer said, standing and moving closer, edging his way carefully around the couch. Taekwoon had been right. He was taller.

He reached out a hand toward Taekwoon’s face. “May I?” he asked.

The angel stepped towards him, allowing the Seer’s hand to make contact with his cheek.

He felt nothing. He received absolutely nothing from the Seer’s mind. No energy. He was blocked off completely. It was a very strange sensation.

“ _What makes an angel is the absence of sin_ ,” the Seer’s voice murmured inside of Taekwoon’s head. “ _A Watcher, by its nature, should be neutral. You are not neutral anymore, are you_?”

He didn’t have to answer, as he knew the Seer could read everything inside. He had no secrets anymore.

“ _Child, you are in grave danger._ ” Sanghyuk’s face was etched with lines of sadness. “ _Your love of one of God’s creations has nearly outweighed your love of God. I can see that you desire this young man – just remember that to sacrifice for love is not a crime, but covetousness, wanting and seeking to claim that which is not yours, will lead to more than just heartache.”_

Taekwoon didn’t understand. Was he saying that he should or should not allow himself to love The Dancer?

“That’s not a decision to be made,” Sanghyuk replied aloud, removing his hand and turning away. “You will or you won’t. You have chosen to become a Guardian, however. Even if the choice was not intentional, it was made all the same. Wonshik can help you with that.”

He moved back towards his spot on the couch, brushing his hand along Wonshik’s jaw as he went. He was so touchy-feely.

The Seer sighed suddenly, re-taking his spot on the couch and picking up his controller.

“Yes, Wonshik, but as of now, the outcome does not appear to be the one you wish for.”

“But it can change?” Wonshik asked, hopefully.

“The future can always change. But this depends entirely on him.”

Wonshik’s face fell. “You mean there’s nothing I can do? Where is he?”

“You already know the answer to that. You’ve always known.” Sanghyuk and Jinhwan turned back to the tv screen, in tandem. “Die, alien scum!” he shouted, already back to his game.

It seemed their audience was over.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hongbin has an unexpected visitor. Hakyeon's relationship ends with a bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! for domestic violence, language, and attempted sexual assault/non-con. This chapter could be triggering and if you are concerned, I recommend skipping it. If you would like to skip the violence, only read to the end of the Hongbin/Ken scene. There will be a short section in the next chapter that insinuates what happens between Hakyeon and Caleb, without the graphic detail.

It felt like Hongbin had just fallen asleep when a loud ping woke him. His cell phone screen was illuminating the dark room with an eerie blue glow. Normally he would have had the sound shut off (in fact, he’d pretty much kept his phone on vibrate since 2012), but his scrambled brain reminded him of Hakyeon and he snatched it from his bedside table, squinting at the screen.

It pinged again and he startled, almost dropping it.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, fumbling for the vibrate switch and opening KKT.

Not Hakyeon. Ken.

 _ << Binnie, can I come over? _(´• ω •`)

_ >> You have got to be kidding me. It’s…_

Hongbin checked his clock.

                _> > It’s 3:30 in the morning!_

_ << Look outside your window._

No. Please no, he could not possibly be serious. An overwhelming sense of dread looming over him and praying to every deity he could think of that Ken was just messing with him, Hongbin sat up and cracked his window blinds, peering down to the road below.

The nighttime was awash in shimmering golden light as the water droplets reflected the streetlamps, rain hitting the ground so hard it splashed upward, looking like the showers came from both directions. Ken stood beneath a sad skeletal tree, bereft of leaves, his blond hair plastered to his head. Hongbin could see his cute pink pout all the way from the fourth floor. He sighed, long and deep.

                _> > I’ll buzz you in. 408._

 _ << _ _＼_ _(_ _＾_ _▽_ _＾_ _)_ _／_

He stumbled out of bed, putting on his slippers and grabbed his robe off the hook on the door. He withdrew a towel from the linen cupboard as well, and headed to the front door, hitting the button to unlock the door that led to the street. He leaned against the wall, barely awake, and yawned, mouth gaping widely.

It was a surprisingly short period of time before there was a soft knock on his door. It seemed like only a few seconds. Maybe he’d fallen asleep standing up. He opened it. Ken looked truly pathetic, soaked to the bone, his shirt and pants clinging to his body, and his shoes making obscene sucking noises as he stepped.

“Stop,” Hongbin demanded, very quietly so as not to wake his roommate. “No dripping all over the floor. Towel yourself off and wear this while I go find you some dry clothes.”

He thrust the robe and towel into Ken’s arms and turned his back immediately, striding off back to his bedroom. Thank God tomorrow (today?) was Saturday and he didn’t have anything pressing to do aside from running his lines for the show, because it looked like he wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight.

Also fortuitously, he and Ken were very nearly the same size. He pulled some sweatpants, boxers, and a tee-shirt from his chest of drawers – Ikea’s finest – and as he turned around, the other man was already standing in the doorway. Hongbin held out the bundle of clothes and once Ken had taken them, stepped wordlessly out the door, down the hall, and into the kitchen, leaving the blond alone in his room.

Feeling thoroughly and regrettably awake now, Hongbin put some water on to boil in the old metal kettle he had been given by his grandmother and set about making two cups of tea. It was the good herbal kind, with chamomile and all the tasty things that would help him relax back to a place where he could sleep. He pulled a few cookies from the cupboard as well, placed them on a matching plate, and rested them on the counter. Even if it was unexpected, unwelcome, and the middle of the night, he’d been raised to be hospitable.

Ken wandered out a moment later. His hair had been buffed to slight dampness rather than the drowned rat effect, so it barely hung in his eyes. Hongbin’s shirt, having been made for someone slightly broader in the shoulders, hung a bit off-kilter, revealing an artistic bit of Ken’s collarbone. Hongbin hated to admit it, but the man looked beautiful.

However, he also looked unhappy.

Hongbin fought back the urge to sigh. He wanted to be irritable, to issue a biting remark and make himself feel better, but Ken’s expression was as it had been when he ran off at the club: inexplicably devastated. It was an expression that didn’t fit well with his happy-go-lucky personality and the easy grins that usually dominated his full lips. Hongbin pushed a mug of hot tea in front of the other man, instead, busying his hands and trying not to look at those lips.

“You’re mad,” Ken murmured, looking down at the steam rising from his cup. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

“I’m tired and cranky because it’s almost 4 in the morning,” Hongbin clarified. He sat down on the stool next to Ken. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

The other took a sip of his tea, and his eyes brightened a bit. “Oh, it’s good!”

Hongbin raised an eyebrow.

“It was my ex,” Ken admitted. “I never expected him to be there, and it had ended so badly, and I haven’t seen him since. I knew Hakyeon was more important, of course he is, but I just panicked, and I knew that you and Leo could care for him better than I could, so I ran.”

Hongbin took a long drink of his own tea, thinking. He didn’t want to be mad at Ken. After the night they’d had, he was too exhausted to be mad at Ken. And exes are hard to deal with even at the best of times, when you’re not under additional stress. He decided he was going to forgive him, even before Ken blurted out, “Hakyeon’s okay, right?”

His eyes were ridden with guilt.

“He’s okay. Leo, his friend Wonshik, and I took him home.”

“Ah, you met Wonshik?”

“You know him?”

Ken simply nodded, not elaborating, and took another sip of his tea.

Hongbin hated to see him so sad. It just felt wrong, like snowflakes in June, or biting into a Kit-Kat without breaking it apart first. Ken was always so energetic, so bouncy, so alive. And now he was huddled in on himself, one arm clutching the other, holding onto himself for comfort. Hongbin internally cringed at what he was about to do.

“Ken?”

The other man looked up at him. His eyes were shimmery.

“Do you need a hug?”

He never replied, but simply threw himself into Hongbin’s arms. He choked on sobs, though the tears never seemed to come, and Hongbin busied himself with stroking the other’s back, resting his head on his shoulder. It was the strangest thing, though. He’d pressed his face into Ken’s neck, seeking the scent of the other, but he couldn’t smell anything at all. Nothing but rain and tea and the fabric softener from his borrowed shirt.

“Come on,” Hongbin said, moving to stand. Ken looked up, a question.

“We’re going to bed.”

“You mean me? With you?” Ken asked.

He’d been intending on making up the couch for him, but seeing him look so broken, he didn’t have the heart to leave him alone. Not to mention, Chansik would be awake in just a few hours, and he didn’t want to panic his roommate, or disturb Ken’s sleep.

He got in on his side of the bed and pulled back the blankets on the other. Ken slipped in and cuddled up to Hongbin immediately. He didn’t resist.

They lay there for a long moment in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It reminded Hongbin of when he would sleep curled up with Hakyeon. He hoped Hakyeon was sleeping peacefully.

Ken took Hongbin’s hand in his and raised it to his lips, kissing it gently. A zing ran through his entire body and he fought the urge to shiver.

“I think you’re sweet,” the blond murmured.

Hongbin’s heart clenched. “Let’s just go to sleep, Ken.”

“Okay.”

\---

Hakyeon woke up in a state of confusion, to the smell of coffee. His head was pulsing like a bass drum and the rays of sunshine streaming through the open window were like needles shot into his sensitive eyes. He shielded his face with one hand while quickly yanking the curtains closed.

He flopped back across the blue striped comforter and let out a low groan. He needed to get his head on straight. First off, where was he? He remembered going to the club, but after that, things started to get fuzzy. He was drawing a crowd…Jaehwan was being flirty…The man with the white hair was named Leo…He’d been trying to talk him into dancing, and then… And then….oh shit. He must have passed out. But how did he get home? How did Caleb not murder him in his sleep? Did Caleb not come home last night? Did he not know about what happened? If not, who on earth made the coffee? 

Hakyeon sat up, trying to steady his heart, trying not to hope, and quickly took inventory of his clothing. He was still in an undershirt and boxer-briefs, so he couldn't have possibly done anything too horrible in his inebriated state. He exhaled into his hand and sniffed delicately. From the quantity of alcohol he must have consumed in order to obtain a blackout and this godawful hangover, he was surprised his insides weren't completely pickled, but other than that, nothing seemed out of place.

The torment of an unsolved mystery was the only thing that could have pulled him out of bed at that moment. He found his phone on the floor, protruding from the dust ruffle next to his discarded pants, set it on the bedside table, then leaned out the bedroom door.

“’Morning,” said Caleb, staring at him from the couch. Hakyeon’s heart sank.

His face was very blank. He didn’t look pissed but looks could be incredibly misleading.

“Good morning,” Hakyeon said carefully, retreating a step back into the bedroom.

“We need to talk.”

“About what?” Hakyeon asked, turning back around. He could hear the rustle of the other man following.

“Knock it off, Yeonnie, you know exactly what.” Hakyeon moved back to his side of the bed and sat down.

“I don’t want to talk.”

Caleb’s fist slammed into the door, which in turn, smashed into the wall with a resounding crash.

“For fuck’s sake, Hakyeon, stop acting like a child. I asked you not to go; you went anyway. You show up in the middle of the night drunk and injured and holding onto another man like he’s your lifeline. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I was drunk, Caleb. I was holding onto whatever was holding me up.”

“Bullshit.”

“I barely know the guy!”

“He sure as hell seemed to know you!”

Hakyeon forced himself off the bed. If things were going to escalate, and they seemed to be escalating quickly, he needed to be ready to run. This wasn’t happening. Not again.

“You were holding onto him, _moaning_ when we took you away. Fuck! Is that the way you _moan_ for him, you fucking bitch?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

Caleb laughed. “What the hell would you know about dignity?”

“Okay, this isn’t talking things through. This isn’t even fighting. This is just you, calling me names. And you say I’m the one acting like a child. Does it make you feel good? Grade school taunts? Seriously, fuck you, Caleb. And leave me alone.”

Hakyeon reached for the dresser drawer to retrieve a clean shirt. He was still dressed in his undershirt from last night and he smelled like sweat. As he pulled on the knob, he felt Caleb closing in and his hands went up defensively. Strong fingers wrapped around his wrists, holding them down, pulling them behind his back.

“Fuck me? No, I’m certainly not the one you’re fucking, am I? That Leo’s the one you want to spread your legs for now, isn’t he? _Isn’t he?_ Look at me, dammit,” Caleb snarled, pulling Hakyeon’s body flush against his. The dancer could feel the other man’s hardness pressed against his thigh. He pulled away as much as he could, trying to prevent contact.

“Let go of me. I already asked you to leave me alone. I don’t want this. I don’t want you. Just let go!” he cried out as Caleb bit down onto his neck, rutting against his hip. Hakyeon gave him a hard shove and the other stumbled backward a few steps. “In what world would I want you right now? How could you possibly think that was okay?”

“You’re mine! You say that other guy doesn’t mean anything to you. Prove it.”

And he was back, pushing Hakyeon’s back painfully against the dresser. He flinched, feeling one of the knobs pressing hard into his spine. That was going to leave another bruise. And that was it. That was the thought that set him off. Another bruise. Another day of Caleb using his body like he owned it. And he was. Caleb was running his hands over Hakyeon’s ribs, down to his ass, sucking a hickey onto his collarbone and pressing his erection between his thighs, trying to urge a response that would never come again. Not for him.

“Prove it how? By letting you rape me?”

“You can’t rape a slut who wants it so bad. Does it even matter whose dick it is anymore?”

Hakyeon shoved him away again, as hard as he could. Caleb stumbled back with a snarl, surging forward again.

“Fuck! Stop, I said! Get! Off! Me!”

Hakyeon reached back with his balled-up fist and punched the other man as hard as he could. He felt the bones give beneath his knuckles and there was a sickening crunch as Caleb’s nose shattered. It felt _good_. The blood pounded in Hakyeon’s ears and the rush of adrenaline was dizzying.

Caleb howled with pain, dropping back onto the bed.

“What the fuck? What the fuck, Hakyeon?” he shrieked.

“Doesn’t feel very good, does it, asshole – the things you do to me?” he shot back. Grabbing his dance bag, he headed for the door. The clothes he had on were dirty, but he’d make do with what he had for now. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants, quickly, from the top of the laundry hamper and walked swiftly out the door.

He grabbed Ink’s cat carrier from the hall closet. He knew the cat always retreated to the bathroom when they yelled. Sure enough, the black cat was compressed into a tiny ball, trembling behind the shower curtain. He made soothing noises at the frightened animal, ushering him into the carrier.

“Don’t worry, Inky,” he murmured. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”

Just as Hakyeon was slipping on his shoes, Caleb came staggering out of the bedroom with his balled-up shirt wadded beneath his nose. It was soaked with blood.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Leaving. I’m done. We’re done.”

“Like hell you are.” The other man lunged for him. Hakyeon ran out the door, slamming it behind him, his dance bag slung haphazardly around his neck, hugging the cat carrier with both arms, trying to jostle Ink as little as possible. He yowled pitifully.

As he ran down the stairs, no time to wait for the elevator, his only thought was to make it to Hongbin. The door slammed. He rattled down another flight and the cat cried out. As he reached the landing leading to the lobby, he could hear footsteps in the stairwell behind him, running.

He swore, dashing out the front door. It was still early on a Saturday morning and there weren’t many people about. Hakyeon wasn’t sure if he should try to hide or head for a more populated area. The front door of his building rattled. The few seconds he’d hesitated made up his mind for him. He slipped into an alley next to the fried chicken restaurant just as he heard the glass door slam.

Hakyeon thrust Ink’s cage next to a food waste bin next to the back door of the restaurant and hovered over it, making himself as small as possible. It smelled awful here, of grease and rot, and the dancer could only be thankful that it was cold outside. Shivering from both temperature and nerves, and fighting back tears, he pressed himself into the wall.

He hadn’t meant to hit Caleb. He hadn’t wanted to stoop to that level. He was angry at himself, but the other man would have never let leave otherwise. And what would have happened if he’d stayed in that apartment? He pressed his fingers into the bruises on his shoulder, feeling the dull ache. It was a reminder of exactly what he was running from. He felt so weak. How should a man run like this, hide from his problems? What kind of man was he? Hongbin always said Caleb would kill him one day if he didn’t get out. He’d always argued the point, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Footsteps on the gravel caught his attention and he clapped his hand over his mouth to muffle his gasping breaths. Please just be a pedestrian, he wished with all his might, squeezing his eyes shut.

“We need to talk, Hakyeon.”

Ink mewled at the familiar voice and the footsteps got louder.

Shit. There was nowhere to go. The alley ended in the back of another restaurant, and Caleb’s footfalls were coming from the only exit.

“There you are,” the older man smiled. “Thanks, Inky.”

Hakyeon sank to the pavement. He’d never been so scared in his entire life. He clenched his fists and readied himself for impact.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of an era and a new beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: more brief violence, descriptions of abuse

Taekwoon and Wonshik stepped through the veil. They’d returned to the same neighborhood, in view of Wonshik’s car. The first impression Taekwoon had was of something being very, very wrong. He tensed.

“It looks like we lost a couple hours, but nothing too bad,” Wonshik remarked, unaffected. “I’m going to call Won-Ho about that apartment so Hongbin can…hey, what’s wrong?”

Taekwoon barely heard him.

“It’s Hakyeon,” he whispered, his body beginning to shake with anxiety. “He’s…I can feel…”

“So, go!” Wonshik yelled.

“But, I don’t don’t know where he—”

“Yes, you do. You’ll feel it. Go.”

Taekwoon’s wings burst out behind him and he took flight before he even knew where he was going. Letting his instincts lead him, rather than his thoughts, he found that Wonshik was right, he knew exactly where he needed to be; it was like his soul was guiding him. He’d gotten close to Hakyeon’s apartment in a matter of minutes, and spiraled downward when he heard a cry like shattered glass.

Everything went quiet and calm, time coming to a standstill as he descended, taking in the scene. His Dancer had been grappling with Caleb Johnson, judging by the state of his battered arms and bruised knuckles, but had lost the fight. He had a small duffel bag and an animal carrier next to him on the pavement. He’d left his boyfriend. And in a hurry, it seemed. It wasn’t hard to guess why. Caleb’s hands were at Hakyeon’s shoulders and the back of the dancer’s hair was matted with fresh blood. His attacker was pulling him forward, preparing to slam his head back into the brick wall.

His heart was hammering against his ribs like a wild thing. He’d seen men fight before. He’d seen men die in front of his eyes, countless times, to the point where he had become nearly numb to the sight of their fragile bodies giving way to steel and smoke and blunt force. But there was no way he was going to let that happen to The Dancer. His Dancer.

All went back into a whirlwind of motion, then, as Taekwoon grabbed Caleb, whipped him to the wall instead, and held him there with a single hand to the throat. The Dancer fell to the pavement, no longer forced upright by Caleb’s hands, and curled in upon himself, wheezing with pain, struggling to breathe.

Taekwoon had never felt such a blind rage in his life. What he’d experienced when he saw the dancer’s bruises was nothing compared to seeing the man with his hands actually on Hakyeon. He wanted to rip this human filth apart, limb from limb. He wanted to hear him scream. He wanted to watch him suffer sevenfold for every pain he’d ever inflicted on the dancer. A hundredfold. The slim white fingers tightened around his throat.

Then the angel felt a warm pressure on his calf. He looked down.  

“It’s okay,” the dancer said. “I’m okay. Let him go.” Taekwoon narrowed his eyes and Hakyeon looked almost frightened. Frightened of him.

“Please?”

The angel suddenly saw the reflection of himself in The Dancer’s eyes, and it was a creature he didn’t recognize. He couldn’t refuse, or risk losing both the dancer _and_ himself.

Caleb continued to gasp, his face already a rich shade of purple. Taekwoon could feel the human’s throat clenching and straining against his fingers, then stop. Not dead, but unconscious from the restricted airflow. He released his grip. The angel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain control, and stepped back, setting the human aside, far more gently than he wanted to. He’d deal with that later. Hakyeon was more important.

He dropped to his knees beside the human and carefully took him into his arms.

“Leo?” Hakyeon whispered.

“I’m here,” he responded, ignoring the use of the false alias, taking inventory of the young man’s hurts. The wound on the back of his head was bleeding heavily.

“I think I saw an angel,” the young man said dreamily. “Am I going to die?”

“No, you are not,” Taekwoon said firmly. He removed his own jacket and held it to the back of The Dancer’s head. He’d willed away his wings as soon as he’d landed, but the human must have caught a glimpse. Hopefully he was the only human who had.

“You made it,” a familiar voice interrupted from the mouth of the alley. Wonshik. He was perfectly calm, surveying the scene, then made his way over to Caleb’s prone form. He rested a hand on his forehead and nodded, apparently satisfied at his ability to continue breathing. Then he withdrew a cell phone from his pocket, stepping away back towards the main street, and spoke in a low tone to whoever was on the other end.

Taekwoon cradled The Dancer’s head. The human had eyes for only him and was examining his face with rapt attention. Up close, The Dancer’s eyes were big and beautiful and so dark brown they were nearly black. The angel stroked his cheek gently.

“You didn’t have to rescue me,” Hakyeon said, somewhat petulantly. “I was fine.” The edge of his mouth quirked as though he were trying to break the tension by being funny.

The situation really wasn’t funny at all.

“You were better than fine,” the angel said quietly, remembering Caleb’s broken nose with a sick sense of satisfaction. “You were fierce.”

“I was, wasn’t I?”

The human said something else, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of approaching sirens. Wonshik came and dropped to one knee beside them.

“There’s an ambulance coming. Leo will go with you, Hakyeon. I’ll stay here and see what I can do to help.”

Hakyeon tried to sit up. Taekwoon wouldn’t let him.

“But my cat,” he protested. The angels’ eyes flitted to the carrier. The little black body was wedged in the very back, yellow eyes wide and glowing.

“We will care for him until you are released,” Wonshik said confidently.

“Everything will be taken care of. I promise,” Taekwoon added. “This is Wonshik. He’s my very best friend. My Hongbin. You can trust him.”

Hakyeon seemed to accept this and closed his eyes, murmuring something that sounded like “Hongbin.” Taekwoon wasn’t entirely sure why the human had decided to trust _him_ so whole-heartedly, considering they barely knew one another, but perhaps it was the celestial aura? Remembering with shame the way he’d nearly given in to his fury only moments before, he knew he didn’t deserve such a gift, but regardless, he felt grateful for Hakyeon’s gentle faith.

It wasn’t long before both the paramedics and the police arrived. Wonshik explained the situation in immense detail, given his excellent powers of observation and his knowledge acquired from Hongbin the previous night. It was clear from the state of his past and present injuries that Hakyeon had been acting in self-defense, and Wonshik’s request that the two men be taken to separate hospitals was agreed to without any protest.

Hakyeon answered a few identifying and health questions but kept trying to fall asleep. Fearing a concussion or internal bleeding, they were on the road quickly, Taekwoon breathing through his nose and carefully counting his breaths in an attempt to relieve some of the anxiety.

\---

That night, after the necessary tests were done, painkillers distributed, and the nurses kindly but firmly ‘suggested’ that Taekwoon leave, since Hakyeon was sleeping and needed rest more than anything, he headed straight to the young man’s former apartment. He needed something to do, to avoid thinking of The Dancer hooked up with needles and wires to all of those beeping, whining, pulsing machines. It was dark, and he expected that Caleb would also still be receiving medical attention due to his ‘black out,’ so he was pleased to see that he’d been correct in his assumption. The apartment was empty. Ignoring the front door and its cheerful musical keypad, Taekwoon dropped down from the roof and easily pushed open a window that had been left cracked. He rooted around for the next twenty minutes, retrieving the items that were most obviously Hakyeon’s or his cat’s, and packing them into plastic shopping bags. It would be better if Hakyeon never had to enter this apartment again, though ultimately that would be his choice. Taekwoon felt he must at least try to discourage it.

He spent a few more moments examining the mobile phone he’d picked up from the end table and pressed buttons until the phone declared itself to be locked. He rolled his eyes at the uncooperative machine and thrust it in his pocket. He loaded Wonshik’s car, which had been left for exactly this purpose, and headed to Hakyeon’s new apartment, the one Wonshik had arranged. Taekwoon would have to find out how Wonshik had been so resourceful on such short notice. A Malakhim’s job seemed to require a lot of split-second decision-making. Taekwoon wasn’t sure he was going to be very good at it.

The human didn’t even know about the apartment yet, but Wonshik had called Hongbin immediately after the ambulance had left, and he’d met them at the hospital. He’d ugly-sobbed into Taekwoon’s shirt, thanking him over and over again for arriving on time, before pulling himself back together and taking care of some of Hakyeon’s personal affairs, such as notifying the theatre company that he’d be missing a few rehearsals, emailing his college professors, and cancelling his dance classes for the rest of the week. He’d agreed that Hakyeon would probably like his own space, since he was so concerned about leading Caleb straight to Hongbin and said that he would talk to Hakyeon after he woke up about accepting the kindness, since he knew how the other man felt about receiving ‘charity.’

The apartment wasn’t large, but it was plenty of room for one person, and it was clean and bright. Wonshik had it furnished during the day with a comfortable blue couch, tables, a bookcase, and the necessary bedroom furniture. It was sparse, but livable, and there was still plenty of opportunity for The Dancer to make it his own. Taekwoon really didn’t understand where the fit of gallantry had come from, particularly since the other angel was so disapproving of his obvious feelings for the human, but he couldn’t help but be grateful to his friend for helping in more ways than he could have possibly imagined.

Taekwoon spent some time putting away the dancer’s clothes, setting a few framed photographs on the shelf, and making up the bed with brand new sheets and blankets. He’d never done any of these things before, though he’d seen them done many times, and if some of his folding was strange and lumpy, or the sheets not hanging entirely straight, he hoped the human wouldn’t mind. He rather enjoyed the little domestic tasks that kept his hands busy while his mind was overflowing and the moon made its way across the sky.

Early morning found him lacking things to do, sprawled across the new couch, which was very comfortable, with Hakyeon’s soft black cat sleeping contentedly on his stomach. He’d been startled when it first approached. Cats are perceptive creatures and can sense celestial presence even when invisible to the human eye. They always had given him the shivers in the past with the way they stared at him from a distance, from alleys and greenery, with suspicious, lamplike eyes. But this cat had accepted him immediately, perhaps seeing him as something of a comrade-in-arms, and promptly hopped on his lap and rubbed his cheek against the angel, staking his claim. Taekwoon, unsure what to do with the gesture, gently stroked between the delicate, pointed ears and the animal made a loud whirring noise that sent Taekwoon into raptures of delight at the wordless connection.

He looked at the tidy living space. It still felt a bit empty. He hoped he had done enough. He hoped he hadn’t done too much. The last thing he wanted was for The Dancer to feel uncomfortable, or like he owed anything to him. He wanted Hakyeon, sweet Hakyeon, to be happy, to feel independent and strong, and able to look with hope towards a future free from the pain and anxiety of the past.

Taekwoon closed his eyes. He felt very strange. His head was heavy and his vision had grown blurry at the edges. He was very relaxed and warm, curled up with a very relaxed and warm Ink, and before he knew it, he was waking up.

\---

To wake from sleep was jarring. In fact, it was highly unpleasant. Having never slept before, Taekwoon felt dazed and confused by the phenomenon. A song he didn’t recognize was playing nearby, muffled, and he searched for the source of the sound. It turned out to be Hakyeon’s mobile phone, stowed in his pocket, and it vibrated against his hip, making him feel…strange.

The illuminated screen said “accept” and “decline” on little circles beneath the photograph of an attractive human woman and the moniker, “Mom.” Taekwoon nervously pressed “accept” and held the device to his ear as he’d seen others do. He paused, not knowing what to say.

“Hello? Hakyeon?” a female voice said.

“No, my name is Ta—Leo. Am I speaking with Hakyeon’s mother?”

“Yes, I received a message from the hospital, but could barely hear it on the voicemail. Are you a friend of Hakyeon’s? Are you with him now?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am his friend. I am not with him now, but I will be soon,” the angel said, looking at the window. The sun was up. It was still early, but visiting the hospital was allowed at 8am, according to the pushy nurses. He’d never paid much attention to time, but it must be near that.

“Can you tell me where he is?”

Her voice was filled with worry. Taekwoon gave her the name of the hospital and the room number he’d memorized from the day before and assured her that Hakyeon would be okay. She said she hoped to meet him later and thanked him for being so helpful.

After the call had disconnected, Taekwoon could see why the little plastic rectangles were so helpful for humans. He wondered when Wonshik was going to buy him one. Where was Wonshik, anyway?

After ensuring that Ink had food and water in his bowls (the little brown pellets barely looked like food, but the cat crunched away like he enjoyed them), Taekwoon altered his clothing enough to look like he’d changed (because humans do that each day, right?), checked and double-checked that he couldn’t be seen, then leapt from the large living room window. He opened his wings mid-fall. It was so much easier to travel this way than face the crowds on the street, and he rather enjoyed landing precisely in the center of a helicopter pad. It’s the little things.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taekwoon thinks he is finally figuring things out. Hongbin has no idea what’s going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, everyone. I apologize for the delay in this week’s post. My summer classes have started so I’ve been trying to figure out my schedule and how to have time for everything I want to do. I’m busier than before but will continue to update at least once per week. Here’s an extra long chapter to make it up to you! <3
> 
> Warning: Some smut!

As Taekwoon landed gracefully on the helipad, he quickly spotted Wonshik leaning against the brick wall next to a heavy door he assumed led to the stairwell. He was, strangely, wearing a black suit, and was holding a black messenger back and a large bouquet of flowers.

“For me?” Taekwoon asked, monotone. “You shouldn’t have.”

He thought he remembered hearing that in a movie a while back. Wonshik rolled his eyes.

 “They’re for Hakyeon. Humans like flowers when they’re sick.”

Taekwoon scrunched up his face. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Hospitals suck, and flowers are pretty?” Wonshik suggested. “It’s a human thing. Just take them. And it’s about time you showed up. I thought you’d be here the instant visiting hours started – if you left at all.”

“I don’t have a clock. And the nurses made me leave,” Taekwoon pouted. He felt like he was being lectured. Just like the nurses had.

“You do realize you are a celestial being, don’t you? You can make it so they can’t see you…” Wonshik looked at him like he was being very stupid. Taekwoon frowned.

“I forgot.”

“You _do_ have it bad.” The Malakhim shook his head. “Anyway, I’m not happy about this. You know that. But I’m going to try to be accepting for your sake, alright?”

“What difference does it make if you’re happy or not? It’s my life – my human to protect,” Taekwoon argued. His friend’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“It makes a difference because you don’t have the first clue what being a Guardian entails. You seem to think you can just cuddle up to your pretty new human and live happily ever after, but it’s a lot more complicated than that. You’re going to need help and you’re going to need it from me. That makes it my business because now I’m not only responsible for my own duties; I’m now guarding him, and you, too.”

Here was the anger that Taekwoon had expected the other day. Totally fucked.

“You interfered with a human,” Wonshik stated.

The Watcher nodded, examining his shoes.

“You never did tell me how or why you got spotted in that club in the first place. And once you did, why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have righted all of this and we wouldn’t be in this mess! Answer me!” he demanded, grabbing Taekwoon by his shoulders and shaking him so hard he thought his teeth would rattle. He didn’t respond. When the other angel finally let him go, he closed his eyes tightly, praying for patience.

“Because I love him,” Taekwoon finally choked.

Wonshik’s eyes were blank. “Angels cannot love humans.”

“Really? Someone should have told Jaehwan,” Taewoon spat, his deep sadness immediately making way for anger, and Wonshik flinched, cringing away as though Taekwoon had struck him. It was a cheap shot. Taekwoon had been deliberately cruel and regretted the words the instant they came out of his mouth.

Wonshik swallowed his hurt and said, much more quietly, “And you know what happened to him. We cannot, we must not, love a human.”

“Somehow, my heart does not seem to care.”

They stared at each other, reading all the words that could not be said.

“Oh, Taekwoon,” Wonshik whispered, embracing him. The angel’s eyes filled with tears and he pressed his forehead against his friend’s. He didn’t deserve the comfort after what he had said, but he accepted it nonetheless. Wonshik had always been better than him, and they both knew it.

“I’m sorry,” Taekwoon said. “I shouldn’t have said that, and before you say it, it’s not okay. _You_ haven’t been okay,” he continued as Wonshik opened his mouth to say those exact words. Wonshik’s expression changed, as though he were going to argue, but then he simply swallowed hard, and nodded.

“You’re right, it’s not. And I haven’t. But it’s not all bad. I never went looking for him. I hope that he doesn’t regret his decision. I hope that he’s happy, wherever he is. And I hope that one day, I will be okay again, without him.”

Taekwoon hoped so, too. He knew that Wonshik was lying, even if Wonshik didn’t know it himself. He’d been lying so often and so well, he didn’t even know that he was doing it. He may not have gone deliberately looking for Jaehwan, but that didn’t stop him from seeking his face in every crowd or hearing his voice anywhere there was music. He didn’t know how close he’d come when Jaehwan, playing his role of Ken, had abandoned the club, but, as much as he wished his friends could be reunited, there was too much hurt there. He prayed that Wonshik would never see Jaehwan again.

Wonshik wiped his eyes on the inside of his lapel, and opened the messenger bag, collecting himself while keeping his hands busy.

“Here, I got you a cell phone. Just press the power button and it will guide you through the set-up prompts. If you have a problem, any human over the age of six could probably help you. I also left written instructions in the bag, if you don’t want to talk to strangers.” Taekwoon took the device and examined it with interest. There was an egg with a sleepy face on the case. “When Hakyeon is released, he is going to need a ride home. If his family isn’t there, just call a taxi. The number is here, on this card, and this is the address for the apartment and the code for the lock.”

“Why is there an egg?” Taekwoon asked, pointing at the phone case.

“Seriously, Taekwoon, pay attention. Play with the phone later. Remember, he can’t go in and out of windows, so you’re going to have to do your best to act human. It’s not as easy as is looks and you’re going to have to pay attention. Do what he does. Eat if you have to but avoid it if you can.”

“Why?” Taekwoon slipped the cell phone in his pocket, leaving the egg mystery for another day. Wonshik sighed heavily.

“Taekwoon, do you know how food waste is expelled from the body?”

He thought about it for a moment.

“Oh,” he said, his face lighting up, then grimacing at the thought.

Wonshik nodded. “Yeah, it’s gross. Avoid if possible. Anyway, stay with him if he invites you,” he continued, “But if not, I have another safe place nearby. The address is also in here. Just say its your apartment. I stay there sometimes so it looks lived-in. You’d just have to buy some food to make it realistic. If you have an emergency, my cell phone number is there as well, if you can’t reach me Beyond.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have work to do.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Too long. This is a bad time to have to leave you, and I’m sorry, but I think I’ve left you everything you’ll need in here.”

Taekwoon took the proffered satchel. He shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, but I understand. There are obvious parallels and just like with Jaehwan, you and I find ourselves on opposite sides of the issue. I cannot understand your decision, but I do know what it means to be _in_ love, and I will help you as best I can because I love you as your friend. I do not wish to see you hurt.”

Taekwoon nodded and Wonshik embraced him.

“If…if for some reason, I don’t come back,” Wonshik stammered, wrapping Taekwoon in a quick, hard embrace. “Go to the Seer. He’ll tell you what to do.”

“What do you mean?” Taekwoon asked, but before the words had finished forming, Wonshik was already stepping to the other side of the veil.

“Wonshik!”

He was gone.

Well…shit. Taekwoon took a deep breath and looked around. He was suddenly alone on a hospital rooftop, where he had absolutely no business being. He shouldered the messenger bag, scratched his neck, and, with no other options, shifted the flowers into the crook of his arm, made himself invisible for the sake of the security cameras, and entered the building.

By the time he’d reached Hakyeon’s room, making himself visible again, Taekwoon’s heart was beating in his throat. He could feel his presence ever stronger as he got closer to his human, and by the time he was outside the door, he was nearly dizzy with the intensity of the connection he felt, just being near. Perhaps Wonshik was right, he didn’t really have any idea what being a Guardian entailed.

He lingered in the hallway for a moment, watching the nurses warily, hearing, as well as sensing that Hakyeon wasn’t alone. But Taekwoon could also feel that he was stronger today. He was healing. His heartbeat was strong. It was a very strange sensation, being so completely in tune with another being. Similar to the sensation of being touched, in that, from what little experience he had, it felt very intimate.

Gathering his courage, Taekwoon stepped into the doorway. As he entered the room, the machines next to Hakyeon’s bed peeped out a warning as his heart rate rose in response to the angel’s presence. The Dancer’s face lit up in a blinding smile. “We were just talking about you, Leo-ssi! Mom, this is Leo. Leo, this is my mother and sister.”

Taekwoon bowed low in greeting.

The young woman, who had also inherited her brother’s lovely golden skin and delicate features smiled and bowed her head to him, but the older woman had risen immediately, and with no preamble, wrapped her arms around him.

Taekwoon smiled gently, putting his arm lightly around her shoulders. She barely came up to his chest, she was so tiny.

“Hakyeon says you saved his life,” she said as she finally pulled away, brushing tears from her cheeks.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Taekwoon hedged, blushing. “He was very brave.”

“But to put yourself in such danger,” she insisted, clutching onto his sleeve.

He patted her arm carefully on the sleeve in return. “I’d do anything to protect him. Hakyeon is very special,” he replied, very quietly.

“Wah, so sweet!” his sister exclaimed.

“You must care for him a great deal,” Hakyeon’s mother murmured.

“I must,” Taekwoon agreed, eyes cast down to the floor.

“What was that?” Hakyeon asked, craning his head to the side as though to hear better. His cheeks were flushed.

“Nothing,” they said in unison.

“I brought you your phone,” Taekwoon said as a distraction, pulling the device from his jacket.

Hakyeon looked confused. “But I thought I left it—”

“And I brought you these,” the angel continued quickly, withdrawing the flowers he’d kept shielded by his body.

The Dancer forgot all about the phone, just as Taekwoon hoped he would, and reached out eagerly for the bouquet.

“They’re beautiful! Oh, and they smell so good!” He looked around to see if there was anything to put them in.

“Mom,” Hakyeon’s sister said, giving her a pointed look. “Why don’t we step out for a bit? We can grab a coffee and find something for Hakyeon’s flowers?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” the older woman said, catching on immediately. She must be very sharp. “We’ll come back in a while.”

Hakyeon’s mother leaned over his bed and kissed him adoringly, while the younger patted his foot, and the two women headed out the door, closing it so it was left open only a crack.

“Leo,” Hakyeon motioned him forward, “Come sit by me.”

The angel flushed, moving to occupy the seat that had been vacated by his mother. It was very warm, and so close to The Dancer, he could easily reach out and touch him.

“Is there anything you need to tell me?” Hakyeon asked, his eyes intense.

“What do you mean?”

Taekwoon stared at Hakyeon. He didn’t know what the human was looking for. There were a lot of things he needed to tell him, but he didn’t know which one the human was seeking, specifically.

I’m not even human. I’m a Malakhim. I’ve been watching you dance for months. I’m sorry I almost got you hit by a car. I’m honor-bound to guard your soul for the rest of eternity. I think you’re the most beautiful and talented human in the world. I’m sorry I didn’t save you sooner. I’m in love with you.

“Never mind,” the human sighed. “So Hongbin said your friend Wonshik had an apartment that he wasn’t using and that I can stay there? How is that possible?”

“He owns several properties,” Taekwoon said truthfully. He didn’t want to lie. He didn’t fully know what story Wonshik had given Hongbin, either. “This one was sitting empty at the moment, so he said it would be helpful for someone to be staying there, and you’d have a place to get back on your feet that you had no prior connection to, so your ex couldn’t find you.”

The Adam’s apple moved in Hakyeon’s throat, but he didn’t show any other signs of stress at the reference to the other man.

“Are you sure I wouldn’t be a burden? It sounds too good to be true.”

“You’d be doing him a favor,” Taekwoon reassured him. “And after six months or so, if you wanted to keep staying, you could pay a bit of rent. I don’t think he’s worried about it, though. Actually, I hope you don’t mind, but I stayed there last night to keep Ink company. He’s already settled in like he owns the place. And I managed to get some of your things. Like your phone.”

“Why are you both being so nice to me?” the young man suddenly blurted. “None of this makes any sense. You don’t even know me. One moment you look like you’re about to jump off a building and the next, you’re saving my life, and feeding my cat. Who are you, really? What happened at the club? I know I didn’t drink enough to pass out. How did you know where I was in order to save me? And where did you come from? It’s like you dropped from the sky.” The monitor to his left began beep loudly as his blood pressure and heart rate spiked. Taekwoon held out his hand towards him, reaching, wanting to touch him, calm him, protect him.

He’d meant to touch his blanket only, but once again, Hakyeon quickly snatched his hand before he’d had the foresight to pull away. The crackle of electricity moved through them again, between them, binding them, but this time, instead of a jolt, it spread through them like the heat of a warm bath. The anxiety both had felt seemed to melt away at first contact, leaving a beautiful stillness. The human’s dark eyes filled with wonder.

“I can feel you…” Hakyeon whispered. “It’s like you’re speaking without words.”

Taekwoon could only stare. Hakyeon had a beautiful soul, simply beautiful. For all he’d been through, all he had suffered, he was still so strong – so whole. It made the angel’s heart ache. He wanted to tell the human everything, to lay himself bare, but how could he? He’d never understand. And Taekwoon would never be able to explain.

Hakyeon nodded, as though he understood. “I can feel your reservations. You’re afraid,” he said quietly, stroking the back of Taekwoon’s hand with the blunt pad of his thumb, "but you’ll tell me the truth one day, won’t you? What happened? What you are?”

Taekwoon nodded in return, casting his eyes away. Hakyeon pulled his hand gently, drawing him closer. “You can trust me, you know. I trust you.”

Taekwoon’s breath caught and held. His forearm rested against The Dancer’s chest as he’d drawn his hand towards him. The human’s breath whispered over Taekwoon’s fingers before he pressed his lips gently against his knuckles.

Flames licked through the angel’s body. A deeper warmth spread from the sweet press of the human’s lips on his flesh up his arm and throughout his entire form, concentrating at his heart, which felt as though it swelled with the emotion. He didn’t know what to do with this feeling, not at all. For the first time, he wished Wonshik were here. Wonshik would know what to do, how to stop it before it became to much. Wonshik knew everything.

The Dancer lowered his hand then, and the angel felt like he could almost breathe again. Then Hakyeon raised himself up slightly in his bed. He was very close. Taekwoon could see every detail of his beautiful face. He inhaled one shaky breath, the two of them staring at each other intently, moving closer.

“Alright, you two, break it up,” a female voice trilled.

Both of their gazes snapped to the door, where Hakyeon’s mother and sister laughed, knowing expressions on their faces as the two men blinked owlishly.

“I got this from the gift shop,” the young woman announced proudly, holding up an incredibly tacky vase, adorned with a hideous multicolored glass mosaic.

“Wow, you shouldn’t have,” deadpanned Hakyeon, laying back.

“But it’s beauuuuutiful!” she sang, sparkling with mirth.

“No, really, you shouldn’t have. That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Leo’s flowers will wilt from the insult.”

“I tried to talk her out of it, but it was her money,” his mom said, shaking her head. She was balancing a cardboard tray with drinks. “I wasn’t sure what kind of coffee Leo would like, so I brought you both an Americano. There is some extra cream and sugar here if you prefer.”

Leo blinked. A gift? Oh no. He’d been going to take his friend’s advice and avoid human food and drink, but he couldn’t refuse a gift from The Dancer’s mother.

“Thank you so much,” he said as enthusiastically as possible, blushing and bowing as he accepted the cup with both hands.

Hakyeon drank his coffee with a blissful look.

“Oh my gosh,” he moaned. “Hospital coffee is horrible – this is amazing. Ambrosia. I could cry. You’re the best mommy in the whole world!”

Leo did his best to fade into the background and let mother and son adore each other. He examined the warm paper cup and couldn’t deny he was curious. The air outside of coffee shops always smelled so nice, and this smelled good, too. Squinting away the impression in his mind of Wonshik’s judgmental visage, he raised the cup to his lips and took a sip.

He could practically feel his pupils dilate. He sipped again and swallowed. He recognized the liquid as being bitter, but not unpleasantly so. The heat was very enjoyable as it made its way down his throat and into – wherever it goes after that. He’d never been particularly interested. Coffee was wonderful.

He left the hospital a short while later, resolving to come back after Hakyeon’s family had had their time with him. He walked on the street rather than flying, purely as a distraction, as it was a crisp, cool autumn day, not because he wanted to try more coffee. No, definitely not because of that. Yet, he found himself at a café counter a half hour later, and after receiving a recommendation from the pretty young barista (he’d learned a new word, too!) he’d discovered that he loved the vanilla latte even more than the Americano. And there were at least twenty other options to try!

He sat in the park for a while, then, playing with his new mobile phone. It wasn’t as difficult to operate as he had feared, and he smiled a little to himself as he realized how much he looked like every other human in the park, with his little plastic rectangle and his paper cup. No one stared at him and he didn’t feel out of place. It was nearly as comfortable as being a Watcher had been. He thought about the taste of the coffee and the warmth of Hakyeon’s lips on his fingers, and the tenderness and affection with which The Dancer’s mother had embraced him and felt so full he could burst. There were still many things he didn’t know, but he was certain that he never wanted to just Watch life again.

\---

Ken was avoiding Hongbin.

When they got to rehearsal that night, Hongbin had approached him with a smile, laying a hand gently on his arm with the intention to speak privately for a few moments, but the other man had pulled back with an unnecessary jolt. Stammering some kind of excuse, he’d run off and made himself busy with their director, Jinwoo. Hurt and bewildered, Hongbin had approached him three more times, but Ken insisted that he needed to focus.

To a certain extent, that may have been true. As Hakyeon’s understudy, Ken was playing a role he hadn’t had the chance to rehearse yet with the group, but the way he’d jerked away from Hongbin’s touch had cut him deeply. He didn’t know where it was coming from. They’d had such an amazing morning, after he’d arrived so unexpectedly on Saturday…

Hongbin had opened his eyes. If the sun were any indication, it was late, much later than he usually slept. He squinted at the blinds accusingly and pressed his face back into his pillow. He’d sleep just a bit longer, he mused. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so comfortable.

Hongbin felt warm. He felt safe. He felt…Ken’s morning wood pressed up against his ass.

Oh God.

He lurched, startling both himself and the other man, who blearily opened his eyes and muttered something indistinguishable. After a brief moment of no movement from either, Ken’s body fully relaxed again and he snuggled closer against Hongbin’s back, breathing moistly on the nape of his neck.

Hongbin, himself, was anything but relaxed. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable, because he wasn’t. In fact, having the warmth of another body next to his felt amazing. He had the tendency to push others away, avoiding skinship as a general rule, probably due to years of tolerating Hakyeon’s overenthusiastic and excessive use of it. Before Caleb had slowly sucked the joy from his soul, he’d dependably clung to Hongbin like an octopus, and was impossible to unstick without gargantuan effort. But it had been a long time since Hongbin had been unceremoniously dumped by his last girlfriend, Kyunghee, and even Ken’s chaste cuddles felt as desirable as the caress of a lover. So no, Hongbin wasn’t uncomfortable, but the truth was, right now, he felt…aroused. He shifted his hips away from Ken as best he could, moving slowly so as not to jostle his sleeping friend.

Friend. Is that what they were? Hongbin managed to slither out of Ken’s grip just enough so that he could lay on his back. The blond was still nestled up against his side, but his hormones were significantly easier to control without so much body contact. He’d only met Ken when they started rehearsing, barely two weeks ago, but he’d been drawn to him instantly. He’d never really felt that opposites attracted, but in this case, he felt like they complimented each other, in some odd way.

Ken was….what was Ken? Hongbin looked over at his sleeping form and couldn’t help smiling a little. Ken was beautiful, is what he was. He was able to charm everyone he met with his cuteness, and the way that he was so brave, and wasn’t afraid to approach anyone. He was always there with a grin, or a joke, or a cute little dance, to lighten up the mood. He had a crooked smile and plush lips and pretty eyes…eyes that were looking at him right now.

Hongbin gasped, mortified that he’d been caught staring. And as he gazed into those sweet brown eyes, he felt like all of the air had been sucked from the room, because they weren’t really brown, they were a swirling mass of color: gold and green and flashes of other colors that didn’t even make sense, like the ripples in a stream, reflecting earth and sky. Ken moved closer and his breath whispered over Hongbin’s lips. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Hongbin wheezed. The sound of his voice caused him to flush even more red. More than anything, he wished the mattress would just swallow him whole. Ken grinned.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing!” Hongbin made a move as though he were going to get up. Ken caught him and hauled him back.

“No, you can’t leave me. It’s too early.”

They had a brief struggle that reminded Hongbin all too much of trying to escape Hakyeon’s unstoppable tentacles and he giggled, actually giggled, as the blond finally wrapped his arms around Hongbin, drawing him closer. But the way he rolled into Ken left the entire length of their bodies pressed together. They both seemed to have the exact same realization at the exact same time, as they were both very hard and pressed together through the light flannel of their sleep pants.

Ken’s hand shot down to protect himself, a kneejerk reaction, but as his hand skated down to cup his own erection, the back of his hand also slid down the length of Hongbin’s cock, causing him to moan at the unexpected contact.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, Hongbin, I didn’t mean…”

He moved his hand away, caressing them both yet again and they shivered in unison. By this point, Hongbin’s face was bright red and he turned to hide his features in the pillow as best he could.

He held himself very stiffly, not wanting to pull away, exactly, but not ready to be the one to make a move, either.

“Hongbin, I,” Ken began, trailing off, hesitating. There was a moment of awkward silence in which Hongbin worked on regulating his breathing, somewhat unsuccessfully. Ken tried again. “Bin-ah, did…do…you like it?”

“What?” Hongbin’s face shot out of the pillow to stare at Ken in disbelief. Obviously he had, or he wouldn’t have let out that mortifying sound. Ken’s hand was still splayed across his own stomach, in between them. He’d moved his hips away slightly, but Hongbin could still feel his warmth. He was close. If he was braver, he could close the distance between them and grind their cocks together. So easily. But so could Ken. And he didn’t.

The tension between them was growing, as they looked into each other’s eyes. Things like this are easier at night, when you don’t see each other quite so clearly. In the light of the morning, it’s all too easy to think of all the reasons why you shouldn’t. And there were reasons. But oh, there were reasons why they _should_.

Hongbing had always thought Ken would be more of a take-charge type of lover, with the way he exuded confidence in public and played with everyone like he hadn’t a care. But he looked just as affected as Hongbin expected he probably did. The always artfully-tousled blond hair was sticking up on one side from where it had gotten mussed by the pillow. His brown eyes continued to move like water in the sunlight. His shoulders were stiff and his breath was ragged. He was unsure, nervous. He swallowed.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Ken asked.

Yes, he absolutely did. He wanted Ken to do more than touch him. He wanted Ken to grab him, force him down, kiss him breathless, and to be completely lost in the feel of Ken’s hands all over his body. He wanted to feel Ken _in_ him. He wanted to push Ken against the wall and fuck him senseless, until he cried out in that beautiful songbird voice and…

“Hongbin?”

Thank God none of that had actually gotten blurted out loud. Hongbin just nodded, completely lost for words, and Ken seemed to finally reach his decision. His hand slowly moved downward.

“Wait! Umm…Can we kiss first? Before you touch my dick?” Hongbin asked, completely serious. Ken’s mouth quirked, though, and his eyes turned to crescents. It broke the tension.

“Oh, I suppose,” he drawled, pulling Hongbin close, and when their lips met, both were smiling.

It was everything he’d dreamed of. Ken’s lips were just as soft and sweet as they looked, and though it started out gently, things quickly devolved into something Hongbin hadn’t known he needed, but the feeling was all-consuming. He threw himself into the fire without question, and God, Ken didn’t even seem to need to breathe. He was so close, kissing him so hard, Hongbin felt as though they were simply drawing breath from each other’s lungs.

The hand Ken had threaded into Hongbin’s hair during their kiss slid down his back, fingers playing lightly over the bumps of his spine. Wrapping his arm around the smooth dip in Hongbin’s lower back, Ken drew his body to him and ground their hips together, just as Hongbin had imagined. Both moaned in unison. Hongbin could feel the other man’s heat even through both of their layers of clothing, and he wanted. He knew he wasn’t really ready for _that_ yet, but he wanted nonetheless.

Hongbin gripped the front of Ken’s shirt tightly in his fist, pulling away from his mouth for the first time to kiss and suck at the soft flesh of his neck, that sweet spot, just below the jaw, and Ken gasped, his hips jutting forward against his.

“Oh, H- Hongbin,” he stuttered, hands sliding down the other man’s sides. He trailed his palms heavily down the muscles of Hongbin’s abs, stopping just at the waist of his sleep pants.

“Do it. Please,” Hongbin begged, biting down on Ken’s shoulder as he slipped his hand inside Hongbin’s pants, and bringing his own hand down to palm at the hardness between Ken’s legs. The other jolted at the contact and panted as Hongbin dragged his fingertips from his balls all the way to his tip, then slipped his hand inside the elastic.

Ken’s cock felt wonderful, hot and silky and heavy in his hand, and Hongbin stroked him lightly at first, just enjoying the feeling and watching the way it made Ken’s long eyelashes flutter like wings. Ken was stroking him, too, and he could feel the need rising, so, spreading the hot, slick precum down Ken’s length, Hongbin tightened his hold, moving faster.

“You don’t even know,” Ken gasped, “how long it’s been.” He thrust into Hongbin’s fist raggedly, for a moment, seeming to forget to move his own hands over Hongbin.

Hongbin couldn’t find it in himself to care. He’d never seen anything as beautiful as Ken coming undone. His eyes were clenched shut, head thrown back, panting breaths coming in puffs from beneath parted lips. His back arched as he thrust upward and Hongbin yearned desperately to see him fully naked, falling apart under his hands.

He leaned in to kiss Ken again when the elder pushed him onto his back. Yes, Ken being in control. That’s what he wanted. And he did control the kiss for a few sweet moments, before gently removing Hongbin’s hand from the front of his pants.

“I want to please you now,” he murmured, his voice husky. It sent a shiver down Hongbin’s spine as the other man rucked his shirt up to trail hot kisses over his abdomen and down to his waist.

“May I?” he asked, lipping at the dip just below Hongbin’s hipbone. He knew what Ken was asking and he nodded, open-mouthed, as the other man drew his pajama bottoms down off his hips, taking his boxers with them, and immediately ran the flat of his tongue up the length of Hongbin’s cock.

A high-pitched mewling sound escaped his throat that he’d never heard before and hoped he’d never make again, but though Ken’s skin was hot, his touch leaving warmth wherever it lay, his mouth was scalding, overwhelming, as it plunged down onto him, enveloping him in wet heat. He knew he wasn’t going to last. This was going to be embarrassing.

It felt so good, so fucking good, too good, and Hongbin made the mistake of looking down to see his cock sliding slickly between those lush lips. Ken’s eyes were half shut, completely focused on Hongbin, and his cheeks were hollowed as he sucked. The noises he made were borderline obscene, humming and slurping, and moaning softly in his throat as he took Hongbin deeper. He was so fucking beautiful and Hongbin very nearly burst.

“Oh God, I can’t, I…”

Then Ken’s tongue was swirling around the head, sucking away the precum and fluttering at that tiny spot beneath where all the nerves lay, and Hongbin practically wailed as Ken suddenly pushed down, taking him deep into his throat as though he had no gag reflex at all. Hongbin’s back arched violently, trying desperately not to thrust his hips forward, to fuck into Ken’s throat. Ken shuddered heavily, suddenly sucking so hard it was almost painful. It was unbearable. It was too good. He was going to…

“Wait, Ken, I’m going to--”

The other man pushed his mouth down again, as far as he could, but Hongbin was the one who choked as his orgasm wracked his body and everything went white as Ken swallowed. Once, then twice, and Hongbin was seeing stars. Everything was fuzzy and his body was spasming and shaking, but there was that one thing grounding him, keeping him sane – the feeling of Ken caressing his hips, his belly, gently working him through it.

Hongbin collapsed against the sheets and after a few moments of gasping breaths, Ken moved his body up to rest his head against his chest, curling around Hongbin’s body. Everything was quiet until Ken spoke again.

“You taste good,” he said quietly. “I’d like to do that again.”

Hongbin moaned. “I don’t think I could do that again if I tried.”

Ken laughed. “Not now, goose, but soon.”

It suddenly dawned on Hongbin that he should probably reciprocate, even if Ken hadn’t made any overtures towards it. “Ken, you didn’t….don’t you want me to….?” He tried to sit up, to move towards him.

“Oh, not to worry. I _did_ ,” Ken giggled, pushing his crotch against Hongbin’s hip. He wasn’t hard anymore, so it wasn’t difficult to guess his meaning. “So maybe next time.”

Hongbin thought about the state of Ken’s borrowed pajamas and sighed. Ken laughed aloud, reading his thoughts easily on his face.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“I guess it’s laundry day,” Hongbin shrugged, relaxing. Then he had an epiphany. “So you want there to be a next time?”

Ken blushed and looked like he was getting ready to tease, to hide his shyness,  but he changed his mind, running a finger over Hongbin’s erect nipple idly through his tee-shirt. Hongbin shivered.

“It’s not why I came here, and I wasn’t expecting to do anything like this,” Ken said. “I thought we’d just dance and flirt at the club and call it a night, but then I was walking and overthinking everything that happened last night, and before I knew it, I was outside your door.” He rolled over onto his back, his face once again etched with lines of sadness that Hongbin couldn’t stand.

“Every time you look like that, I want to kiss you until you smile,” Hongbin muttered, then turned a brilliant shade of red when he realized he’d said it aloud.

Ken looked startled at first, but then his expression melted into something warm and he rolled back to his side, caressing Hongbin’s face and poking a fingertip into his dimple, which deepened. They kissed again, sweetly.

“I meant what I said last night. You’re very sweet. But I’m…broken, Bean.” Ken’s voice cracked over the adopted nickname. “I’ve been broken for a long time and I don’t know what it’s going to take for me to recover, but I’ll tell you what I do know. I know I like you. And before you ask, or worry, or, God forbid, overthink like me…This morning wasn’t a rebound, or revenge, or me thinking about my ex, because I didn’t. Not for a second. I was only with you. And, if you’re willing to be patient with me, yes, I would like there to be a next time.”

Hongbin was touched. “I can be patient,” he started to say, but then the phone rang, and it was Wonshik telling him everything that happened that morning between Caleb and Hakyeon. He put him on speaker, so he wouldn’t have to repeat everything to Ken, but the other man grew so upset at Wonshik’s story, he started gathering his things almost immediately, their little spell of intimacy broken, and he completely shut down.

By the time Hongbin hung up the phone, Ken had slipped back into his damp clothes from the night before and practically had a foot out of the door.

“Ken, won’t you stay?” Hongbin had begged, following him to the front door. “Stay, and we can go to the hospital together.”

He felt like a total wreck. His best friend was in the hospital after having being beaten within an inch of his life. He needed support so that he could be a support to Hakyeon, and Ken was running as fast as he could in the other direction. Again. Did he hate Hakyeon or something? He’d run when Hakyeon had gotten hurt the night before as well.

“I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow,” Ken had said, and he was gone.

Hongbin had only hoped for another kiss, or a sweet word, or something, anything, to make it feel as though everything that just happened hadn’t been a fluke. But he was just gone. And Hongbin knew he wasn’t going to call Ken. Or text. Or demand an explanation for his behavior. Because he didn’t do things like that. He accepted what he was given. He was grateful when things turned out right, but wasn’t surprised when they all went wrong. And he hated himself sometimes for his passivity.

He’d gone about in a bit of a daze that day. He’d showered, dressed, and gone to the hospital to fuss over Hakyeon, who’d enjoyed the fussing a great deal. His best friend had known something was different, but he didn’t push for Hongbin to tell him, for which he was eternally grateful. He was able to push things out of his mind for a while, then, so glad that Hakyeon was okay, and feeling so indebted to Leo and Wonshik, who had saved Hakyeon when Hongbin couldn’t. He was thrilled that Hakyeon had finally _finally_ left that piece of shit Caleb and promised Hakyeon that he would buy him whatever housewarming present he wanted for his new apartment: a singing rice cooker, a suit of armor, even a ridiculous chandelier, whatever he wanted, so long as he came home safe and sound. But the distraction didn’t last, and when he fell into bed that night exhausted, he wrapped himself around the pillow that Ken had used the night before, but there was no scent of him on it at all. It was like he was never there.

And now, here Hongbin and Ken were, on the same stage, yet they might as well be a million miles apart. And as Hongbin belted his lines in Totally Fucked, “ _Well you're fucked if you just freeze up; can't do that thing, that, keeping still…"_ he knew exactly what Georg was talking about. And he hated himself for it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonshik goes on a rescue mission and tries not to lose himself in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: contains references to self-harm, suicide, depression. Skip it if you are worried about potential triggers.

Wonshik walked quickly down the street. He drew no attention from the passers-by, scurrying about their workday. He looked like one of them, in his suit and tie. He was working as well. He'd just been to a funeral. It already felt like a long day. There were so many things he’d needed to tell Taekwoon and Wonshik was certain he’d forgotten at least half of them, as quickly as he'd briefed the other angel this morning. He hoped it was enough. Because if Wonshik weren’t to come back, what would happen, both to the human and to his dearest friend?

The Malakhim’s heart was beating fast as he turned on his heel, ducking into an alley. He couldn’t help the trembling in his hands as he opened the veil and took several gasping breaths as the veil closed again behind him, and before he could lose his nerve, he was traveling into Sung Min’s Dream. The term Dream was used by his kind simply for lack of a better word – it wasn’t really a dream at all, but a different plane of existence; an alternate reality. Specifically, Moon Sung Min’s reality.

Wonshik first met Sung Min in an underground club in Seoul. An awkward teenager with a bad haircut and acne scars on his cheeks, the boy had attempted an open mic, gotten heckled, promptly forgot his rap, and was booed and jeered off stage. Wonshik had performed earlier that night under his stage name Ravi, and felt a sincere empathy for the kid. It had taken a lot of courage to even try. He found the boy wedged into an alcove in the corner furthest from the bar, face buried in his Adidas jacket, which was already soaked through with tears and snot. The kid, assuming Wonshik had come over to mock him like the others, had cussed him out thoroughly, shoved him, threatened to kick his ass, then sobbed openly into his shoulder as the angel embraced him, made shushing noises, and promised that one day he’d show them all. But he didn’t. He took up a knife and ended his own life before he could ever realize his potential.

Wonshik and Sung Min had developed a strange little friendship over time. Wonshik would listen to his lyrics, work with him on his delivery and flow. The kid was helpful in keeping Wonshik current with the newest slang. It was hard for Wonshik not to blame himself. He hadn't seen it coming, and he should have, given the scars, the dark quality of the kid's lyrics, and his sensitive nature. Of course he was struggling more than he'd let on. Wonshik sincerely regretted not being a good enough Guardian to save the boy’s life. This was the very worst part of being a Malakhim: the oppressive weight, the crushing darkness of loss. He was so young.

It is a tragic irony when the one danger you can’t protect your human from is himself.

Sanghyuk’s words echoed in his head as he opened the veil before him, Sung Min’s Dream, the last rays of light snuffed into black: “There is no soul that can’t be saved.” He repeated the words to himself like a mantra as he entered the young man’s mind. He may not have saved his life, but he _would_ save his soul.

The first thing Wonshik noticed when he opened his eyes on the other side, was that he’d appeared on the rooftop of a building. He’d only been on the roof of the hospital a short time ago, so this wasn't an altogether new phenomenon, but what struck him as odd was the fact that the skyline was significantly different. He walked to the ledge and followed its perimeter, trying to determine where he was. Making his way to the other side, he got his answer. There was city stretched out for about a mile, where it abruptly stopped. A pier with a broken down ferris wheel stretched out into a murky bed of brown sand, no water in sight. But the twin spires blinking feebly at the top of a black skyscraper to his left and the long expanse of Millennium Park to his right triggered his memory instantly. The brilliant blue waves of Lake Michigan had become only a memory, left as a muddy flatland as far as the eye could see. Crumbling gray buildings jutted upward like broken teeth from the shoreline. Chicago.

Why would a kid rapper from Seoul choose Chicago as his purgatory? And how was Wonshik supposed to find him? Here, of all places.

The wind blew around him in icy blasts, forcing the angel to draw his coat nearer. There was no traffic below, no sounds of life. It was completely empty but for he and the wailing of the wind.

Wonshik reached out with his energy, seeking the comfort and safety of his wings, but as he felt for them, there was nothing. An inconvenience, but not altogether a surprise. This place had lost all hope, and, in such darkness, magic cannot thrive. He would simply have to walk. While it shouldn’t be a problem physically, Wonshik was also aware that the longer he stayed here, the more difficult it would be to leave.

That was the problem with depression. It doesn’t just exist; it grows, it builds, the layers of insecurity and anger and sadness and fear becoming too great a burden to bear, until they combine to form the most dangerous enemy of all: apathy. Sung Min no longer cared for his life, no longer allowed the city of his mind to thrive. The flowers had wilted. The relationships had died. The memories moved on to a healthier place to reside. It felt as though Wonshik had wandered into a war zone, only wreckage left behind, and, in a way, he supposed he had. Sung Min had been fighting his battles for too long and this was all that was left.

Wonshik made his way down a staircase into the building. The floors were weak. The walls were covered in graffitied tags of bullies, of tormentors, of those who had left their damaging marks on the young man’s fragile mind. The elevator was only an empty shaft. Accepting this, Wonshik made his way down the many flights of stairs, exiting a shattered glass door to the cracked and broken city streets. Up close, the view was even more bleak.

Beneath the twisted remnants of train tracks and through the blackened remains of burned automobiles, Wonshik walked, calling out for his friend. Fleeting shadows of the people Sung Min knew sometimes emerged from an open doorway, or peeked from the shadows, melting back into blackness as soon as their eyes met his. Some hurled an unkind word his way. Others just watched, or turned the other way, or disappeared.

Each open window Wonshik passed seemed to show a scene from Sung Min’s life. Wonshik had known about the abuse, because Sung Min had told him, several weeks ago, an explanation of his heartbreaking lyrics. His father had firmly believed that discipline came from a blow, from fear, rather than from respect or love, and he had broken down his only son so thoroughly, he would never recover.

Sung Min had tried so hard, for so long, and received so little love in return for all the love he gave. He struggled every day even to get out of bed, loathing the light of the sun that threaded through his tattered blinds, which meant he had to go to school, where the bullying just intensified. Rather than one violent father and weak mother, who drank away her own fears and disappointments, he had a whole building full of potential attackers. They worked together, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups, to torment him for his secondhand clothes, for the bruises that littered his body, for the cuts running up his arm like a ladder. He had always turned his back, walked away when he could, never so much as thrown a punch at those who punched him first. The kid Wonshik had met, who threatened to kick his ass, was all show, trying to put on a front for one of the rappers he idolized. He was too good, too soft, and unable to bear the pain of his own existence.

He ducked into the open door of an abandoned warehouse, calling Sung Min's name. It was empty and smelled of kerosene. He left quickly.

Perhaps this is why Wonshik had reacted so strongly and quickly to Cha Hakyeon’s situation, had been more lenient with Taekwoon than he would normally have been in such a dangerous situation. Wonshik loathed men who used violence in the name of love. They caused far more harm than the physical damage showed, and they never regret their actions because they never truly believe they were unjustified.

Caleb Johnson was one of those men. Sung Min’s father was, as well. And Wonshik could almost hear the man’s voice as he walked, coming from open windows, from the shadows, from the sky above, still taunting his son beyond the grave.

Pussy.

Queer.

The occasional zap of electricity from broken power lines startled Wonshik, but he walked.

Ugly.

Stupid.

The gusts of wind which whistled between the buildings smelled of decomposition and caused him to struggle in his steps. Still he walked, calling out for Sung Min. His limbs were starting to feel heavy.

Useless.

Worthless.

There was no reaction to the hateful words. Not from Sung Min, not from his mind. This wasn’t uncommon. The thoughts were a sort of refrain, continually breaking the boy down. He wanted to prove his father wrong. He wanted his affection, his love. Even though he hated him, he still loved him. After a while, the hate and love start to walk hand-in-hand. Wonshik found that sometimes, he was unable to tell the difference between the two. His head was aching. 

A pretty girl in a school uniform stood on a street corner, in a single ray of light, coming down between clouds. She smiled until Wonshik grew close, then her face contorted into something vicious, monstrous.

“You’re so gross,” she spat. “Who would love you?”

Wonshik’s heart jolted in his chest. She had hit too close, and suddenly, Sung Min’s memories were gone. All Wonshik could think of was Jaehwan. Vibrant, enigmatic, beautiful Jaehwan, whom Wonshik had loved, but who hadn’t loved Wonshik in return. At least, didn’t love him enough.

Wonshik knew this was a trap. He dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to draw himself out of his head, knowing innately that he was reacting in just the way he was meant to, but he couldn’t stop, because suddenly Jaehwan was right before his eyes. Wonshik gasped, reached out, desperate to touch, to kiss, to beg him to come back. Jaehwan stretched out his hand to Wonshik in return, and just as they would have touched, Wonshik’s hand passed right through him, like a mirage. The image of Jaehwan continued to smile gently, melodiously, the way he used to smile, and caressed a hand over Wonshik’s face, a hand he couldn’t feel. He leaned into it anyway, and everything came flooding back.

He remembered the way Jaehwan’s lips felt, warm and sweet, caressing his own with pillowy softness, with a hot tongue that swiped so lightly over his own, tasting. How he’d tremble and keen in Wonshik’s arms when Wonshik was pressed so deep inside of him. The way they’d wrap their wings around each other when they would lie down together, feeling so safe inside their little cocoon, just the two of them. Like no one could ever hurt them, no one could come between them or tear them apart.

Jaehwan was so powerful, so strong. Wonshik could feel his authority, his energy, every time they were close. He could have torn Wonshik apart, rent him limb from limb, ripped his soul from his body with a single thought. But he never would. He was always gentle. He would tease and play and open himself up, submit to Wonshik as though he were the one with the power. It was a beautiful surrender, to allow Wonshik command, when Wonshik was so very much less than he was. Wonshik didn’t deserve such an angel, such a Power. Jaehwan was so much _more_ than Wonshik. He deserved better. Wonshik would have accepted it with far more grace if Jaehwan had abandoned him for another Power, or for a stronger angel, someone more his equal. But to know he’d been left behind for a human, was too much. Humans are dynamic and fragile, yes, but gone so fast. Jaehwan had surrendered the love and devotion of thousands of years for a fleeting passion, gone in an instant.

Wonshik understood the attraction, to a certain extent. He’d tried hard to understand. He was still trying. Humans were that much more beautiful and precious because they were doomed. Wonshik had bonded with some of the humans he’d Guarded over the years. He may have even loved a few, in the ways that he could. He still could remember their faces, their eyes, their smiles, their names. They were important. Once or twice, he had even felt the warmth of desire, like when he’d seen the human Hongbin looking so passionate and wild, facing Caleb, defending his friend. He’d been so fierce, so beautiful, Wonshik felt he could have loved him. In time. In another life. Because Wonshik always backed away. He always maintained his control. Because there was no one in his heart but Jaehwan. There was still no one but Jaehwan, he told himself. There was no room in his life for Lee Hongbin’s doe eyes or dimples or brilliant smile, and it didn’t matter anyway, because in fifty years, or five years, or five minutes, they would be gone forever. It was no more than a blink in the life of a celestial. An angel who loves a human is destined to fall, or to live in agony.

Just like Jaehwan. Wonshik could remember the day Jaehwan left as though it were, not yesterday, but still happening right in front of his eyes.

Jaehwan could no longer fly, so they’d met on the ground, the dead leaves rustling at their feet, shimmering with dew beneath the gas lamps illuminating the Paris night. Jaehwan smelled of the liquor and cigarettes, musk and perfume, of the dance hall in which he’d spent his evening. Over that, he smelled of sex, and of another man. Jaehwan was beautiful, as he always was. His eyes were wild with energy, his hair was mussed, and there was lipstick on the collar of the white shirt he’d worn, stained into the pale skin of his neck, from whatever he'd been doing, and whomever he'd been doing it with.

“I think I love him,” he had said. Just once. Quietly. As though that were an explanation.

He thought. He _thought_. He had told Wonshik he loved him for three thousand years, and now, because he _thought_ he loved a human, he had betrayed him.

Wonshik had said nothing, showed nothing on his face. He just let the emotions play out, the memories of millennia flashing before his eyes like motion pictures, the film bursting into flames.  

“Say something,” Jaehwan begged. He looked defeated, as though Wonshik had physically struck him.

What was there to say? Except…

“Goodbye.”

As he spread his wings and took flight, he could hear Jaehwan’s heart-rending screams echoing over the Seine. Like his was the heart that was broken. Like he wasn’t the one who had made that choice. Like he was the one being left alone forever. Because Wonshik knew, as much as he hated Jaehwan for what he’d done, he would never love another. His tears had blinded him as he flew, falling like rain to the earth. He’d sought out Taekwoon near the Paris Opera House. The Watcher followed the Malakhim without question. Loyal. And they went away from Paris, away from Jaehwan, away to the first place Wonshik could think of, the last place he’d felt at home. And there they’d stayed.

An empty water bottle skipped along the pavement, tossed along by the stale breeze and it struck Wonshik’s foot. He shuddered and glanced around. Fuck. How long had he been crouched here, lost in his thoughts? He looked around him and was struck by the progression of the day. The sun was going down. Quickly. Far more quickly than it does on earth. When he’d arrived, it was directly overhead. Now, there was a faint pinkness on the rim of the horizon, only barely visible beyond the clouds. Sung Min’s soul was weakening. Soon, he would disappear, lost in darkness, and would take Wonshik with him, if he were not careful. If he did not get them out in time. There wasn’t much time.

“There’s nothing inside you. You’re empty!” The girl screamed at him.

She was right. He didn’t have to remember the emptiness of Jaehwan’s loss, because he still felt it every day. Here, it was amplified. It was all he could seem to feel.

“You’re not real,” he choked out, breaking into a run, shouting Sung Min’s name. The girl faded into the shadows.

He headed west of the Loop. The bodies of what seemed to be Sung Min’s loved ones were scattered across the ground. Stabbed in the heart. Hurt by him, just as they’d hurt him, Wonshik thought. He tried not to look; he continued picking his way through the carnage, calling for his lost friend. A flash of red caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Sanghyuk dead. No. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. Jaehwan dead. Taekwoon dead. Please, God, please, this isn’t real. Hakyeon dead. Hongbin dead. Sung Min dead. Unable to be saved.

One by one, all the faces, all the spirits he cared for and loved appeared in front of his eyes, cold, frozen, lifeless and he wailed, pushing his fists into his eyes, desperate to stop the pain.

"This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real."

“You’d be better off dead,” a harsh voice told him, and for a moment, Wonshik felt like he agreed. “No one needs you,” the voice continued. “They’ll all leave you eventually, anyway.”

Jaehwan left. The one he’d loved the most. The one he thought would never, could never, leave. He was gone. Next, it will be Taekwoon. He’s in love with a human, too. Wonshik doesn’t matter to him.

Wonshik sobbed. Openly. Like a child. He struggled again to reach out for his wings, desperate for their light and warmth, the way they wrapped around his body like a blanket, like a friend, like a shield. He gasped for breath, panicking, when suddenly he could feel them burst from his back, and he was wracked with pain. From over his shoulder he could see them, usually a soft, translucent, silvery-gray, now mangled, cracked, and drenched in thick, red blood. Human blood. He screamed, falling to his knees, covering his face with both hands, completely broken.

No, this wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. Angels don't even bleed red. It’s how Sung Min thinks of blood. It’s _his_ world, _his_ mind. The horror image was the manifestation of their combined fears. It’s not real, he assured himself. It’s not real.

He forced himself to his feet. It’s not real.

He took one wobbly step. It’s not real.

He took another step. It’s not real.

He continued on, shaken to his core by the fact that, to him, this wasn’t real, but to Sung Min, to his friend, this _was_ his reality. His pain, his fears, his nightmares, drenched in blood. Like his body, when he was found, wrists slashed open in the bathtub. Wonshik kept walking, occasionally calling Sung Min’s name. Whenever he did, the phantom voices would jeer, calling out abuse, appealing to his insecurities, and Wonshik’s eyes were red-rimmed and sore now from the assault of so many tears on his waterlines.

It began to rain, just to add to the misery. It made Wonshik’s body hurt all over, like he was being stung with drops of acid. He’d never felt such weariness in his ancient and immortal form. His bones ached. His head hurt and pressing his palms into his eyes only eased the pain for moments until it returned. His feet throbbed and stung. He was certain they were bleeding inside his expensive shoes. He’d never traveled such distance without his wings.

The sky had gone dark, only a few rays of light left in the west, and a few cracked yellow streetlamps had sputtered to life. They shuddered, on the verge of going dark themselves. That’s when he found him. There was a trembling of tiny wings echoing from the alley to his right. Wonshik followed the sound to the very end of the corridor. And there was Sung Min. He had taken the form of a common brown moth and was fluttering below a lamp for warmth. Wonshik plodded the last few meters toward him, aching down to his bones with every step.

Swallowing away his own irrational fear of insects, he reached out. His hand was shaking, but the moth climbed delicately onto his palm and rested there. They looked at each other for a weighted moment, then, more tears in his eyes, Wonshik whispered, “Come, Sung Min-ah. I’ll take you home.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hakyeon and Taekwoon take a step forward in their newfound friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for Neo.

Hakyeon hated hospitals. The atmosphere was always tense, and for a place that continually told patients they needed rest, it was unbearably, ceaselessly loud. With all the activity, the beeps and alarms and announcements over the intercom, the rattling carts and pounding footsteps up and down the white halls, it was impossible to get any restful sleep. It also smelled sour – that awful combination of sterile and sick. He’d buried his nose in the beautiful flowers Leo had brought him countless times, just to rid his nose of the hospital smell, even for a few brief moments. Other than the back of his head, Hakyeon really wasn’t badly damaged; he’d had much worse in the past, at least. And he was getting very tired of being stuck in bed just for “observation.” This longing to be free was completely at odds with the fact that at the hospital, he felt reasonably safe.

He tried not to think about it, but when he was stuck flat on his back in the middle of the night, alone, it would inevitably creep into his mind that Caleb was out there, probably angrier than ever, and even if he didn’t know where Hakyeon was going to be living now, he knew all of the places Hakyeon frequented: the dance studio, the rehearsal space, his university, his favorite bars and restaurants. He knew all of his performance dates. Even secure in the knowledge that the man was legally required to keep his distance now, it was hard not to feel at least a little bit paranoid, and Hakyeon knew that he was going to be looking over his shoulder for some time to come.

When the police had come to his room, he’d answered their questions truthfully, though not in great detail, and he did not offer any more information than they’d asked for. He’d agreed to the personal protection order but declined pressing charges, against the recommendation of the officer, and much to Hongbin’s shock and dismay. He had been sitting with Hakyeon at the time, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from giving information Hakyeon did not want him to give and avoiding his friend’s eyes. He lectured him thoroughly after but could not change his mind.

Hakyeon knew he was going to be met with similar disapproval from everyone he knew for his decision but felt so tired just thinking about it that he couldn’t bring himself to care. It wasn’t exactly out of the kindness of his heart that he didn’t want Caleb to go to jail, or out of any lingering affection, but more out of the desire to just have an end to all of this. If he had to go to court, he would have to talk about it more, re-live his nightmare over and over again. He’d have to look at Caleb’s face, that face he’d once loved so dearly, that now gave him nightmares. He would be so much happier if he could just turn the page on that chapter of his life and start another. Regardless, by the time the hospital staff came by with his release papers, Hakyeon had been internally debating the pros and cons of escaping out the window with a bedsheet rope ladder (Pros: Escape! Cons: High risk of plummeting to his doom).

Things could have been significantly worse, however. Leo had been an absolute godsend the past couple of days. While he’d gotten visits from his family, from Hongbin, and even from Jaehwan, who had snuck in once, after visiting hours, when everyone else had left for the day, he’d really just wanted to keep his situation private as best he could, so he’d asked that they not tell his other friends or castmates. That meant that Hakyeon had thought he’d be alone most of the time, which was somewhat depressing, as social a creature as he was, but Leo always seemed to arrive only minutes after his other guests had left and stayed as long as Hakyeon wanted him. He didn’t seem to have any desire to be anywhere else, which was a little bewildering, but flattering, overall. He also had an uncanny knack of showing up whenever Hakyeon was feeling stressed or frightened. That was happening a bit more frequently, as Hakyeon began to realize he’d be leaving the hospital soon and would be quite on his own, but Leo’s hand became his anchor, a calming presence to keep him from losing himself when the anxiety was overwhelming.

When he finally had signed his paperwork, secured the little plastic bag of his belongings, and made his way down past the exit sign, he’d clung to Leo’s hand. He’d claimed to be feeling a bit weak from laying down so much over the past few days, but really, he just wanted the peace that he felt when the other’s skin was touching his. Because somewhere out there, Caleb was waiting for him. He knew that they hadn’t had their last fight yet. Caleb always had to have the last word. But Leo made him feel safe. He genuinely felt that, as long as Leo was around, nothing was going to hurt him. It was an odd feeling, surprising, and he resolved to examine it more at another time.

As they rode in the cab on their way to Hakyeon’s new apartment, which he was more apprehensive than excited to see, Hakyeon continued to hold Leo’s hand on the seat between them. Leo didn’t ask questions or make Hakyeon feel weak. He had simply threaded his fingers between Hakyeon’s and they rode in silence, looking out the windows. Somehow, it felt like a victory.

They arrived a short while later in front of a modern apartment building with a white, boxy façade. The neighborhood was nice, much nicer than that of his old apartment, and Hakyeon was pleased to see how close he was to the subway stop. That would make his commute much easier. Shorter, as well, because, on second look, he knew where he was, and he was within an easy walking distance of the dance studio. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen at the most. So that saved both time _and_ money, something he was going to have to take much more seriously going forward. He swallowed back the wave of nausea that thought brought about.

Leo took up Hakyeon’s bag and tucked his vase of flowers into the crook of his arm as they exited the cab, paid the fare with no particular flourish, and gave Hakyeon his other hand to help him out of the vehicle. The young man flushed, not used to being taken care of in such ways.

The entryway was basic, with no real lobby or desk, but had a few couches near the windows and some decorative potted plants, a door to the stairwell, and an elevator. They rode the mirrored elevator to the fifth floor and Hakyeon was unable to keep from smiling at Leo in their reflection. His eyes would dart up each time, his lips would curl, then he’d look away, shy. Though his face remained as neutral as ever, stoic, even, the other man’s eyes sparkled and Hakyeon could read his reflected happiness there. As the elevator dinged and opened to a door embellished with a shiny black 501, Leo withdrew his hand from Hakyeon’s, reached into his pocket, then handed a little white card to Hakyeon, about the size of a business card. He looked at it, seeing that it had the address for the apartment as well as the security code for the doors.

“Welcome home,” Leo said.

Hakyeon smiled and punched the code into the keypad. He opened the door. 

His first impression was that the apartment had walls in a light, calming shade of gray. The couch was new, dark blue, and had the overstuffed look of being squashy and comfortable. Lots of light came in through a large wall of windows, and the mountain view was spectacular. Hakyeon froze in the doorway, almost afraid to enter.

“You must be joking; this can’t possibly be mine,” he said.

“All yours,” the other man said, giving him a little nudge with his shoulder. The physical contact gave him courage.

Hakyeon took a few tentative steps in, struggling with the bubbling well of emotions that seemed to have risen in his chest. There was a bit of anxiety, of unknowing, that strange feeling that he was walking into the home of a stranger. There was a hint of nervousness, being completely alone with Leo for the first time. Although he didn’t know him very well yet, he couldn’t help but think he’d perhaps developed a bit of an infatuation with the man. Then there was hope. This place was absolutely beautiful. While it didn’t feel like home yet, he knew that it _could_ ; it had good feelings. That’s when he spotted a little stuffed penguin that had been in his old apartment. It was sitting in an armchair, over by the windows, looking like it belonged there. Leo had managed to rescue Antonio!

“This is great! This is so great!” Hakyeon enthused, dashing over to the penguin and scooping it up into his arm. “Oh my gosh, I don’t even know where to begin!”

Hakyeon prowled around the space. It was all one floor; no loft, but an actual bedroom with an actual door. The bedroom had a large sleigh bed with soft, clean sheets, a chest of drawers, and a wardrobe. The furniture wasn’t matching, but an interesting eclectic mix of items that somehow fit together effortlessly. The bathroom was bigger than any he’d ever seen in an apartment. It even had an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub with a shower above. He’d never had anything so gorgeous in his own living space and he couldn’t wait to sink into a bubble bath!

Ink, he discovered, was fast asleep in the bathroom sink and hadn’t moved a muscle since they entered. Creeping close, Hakyeon sang, “Iiiinky,” to him, and the little cat blinked sleepily a few times before jolting awake and making a happy sound halfway between a squeak and a purr as he bolted upright. Hakyeon scooped him up in his arm not already cradling Antonio.

“He missed you,” Leo said, from where he’d been peeking around the corner. “He’s been sleeping with me on the couch, but I’m hardly an acceptable substitute.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that. You could have slept in the bed. I never would have known the difference,” Hakyeon protested.

Leo shook his head. “It’s fine. I don’t sleep much anyway.” He looked around. “Sorry, it’s not very big. And it’s definitely Wonshik’s aesthetic. He tends to enjoy the old European styles and blending them in with modern looks. It doesn’t suit everyone.”

“It suits me perfectly,” Hakyeon exclaimed. “I really can’t believe this is mine. It’s beautiful. It’s too much.”

He placed Antonio on his pillow, to be cuddled later.

As they wandered around, Leo showed him where he had added a couple of bookshelves but lamented that he didn’t know which books in the old apartment had been his. He’d also added a nice rug to the living room, since he’d noticed that the floors were a bit cold in the morning and flipped open the kitchen cupboards as they walked. He had gone grocery shopping for some ‘basics.’ He told an amusing story about how he’d acquired the assistance of an overly-enthusiastic female grocery clerk, who’d tossed her hair a lot and had a habit of hitting Leo on the shoulder and giggling. He hadn’t been quite sure what to make of her, but she’d at least gotten his grocery shopping done a lot quicker than he would have done on his own. Hakyeon laughed, wondering how anybody could be so oblivious, but Leo gave off a sweet, childlike innocence sometimes that he found incredibly endearing.

As Hakyeon examined the contents of the cupboards, murmuring to Ink, Leo took the vase of flowers they’d brought from the hospital and placed it in the center of the kitchen counter. Though it was, in fact, extraordinarily ugly, it brightened up the room. In its own strange way, it was almost charming. 

“So, it’s only just past noon. Do you want to do something today?” Hakyeon asked eagerly. “I’ve been in the hospital for days, I need to be doing something. Anything. Or wait, do you have to work?”

“No, I recently…quit…my job,” Leo replied, running his fingers in circles on the countertop. “So, I’m not exactly sure what to do next.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” said Hakyeon, setting the cat down. Ink went to investigate his food bowl. “Sometimes it’s good to take a break and figure things out.”

Leo nodded.

Hakyeon was struggling a bit with how to keep talking to the man. Leo was quite quiet and seemed even more so now that they were completely alone together. His shoulders were held stiffly beneath his white teeshirt and he continued playing games on the countertop, tapping his fingers against the quartz. Hakyeon had felt, in recent days, that Leo was practically one of his closest friends, with all of the time they’d spent together, and yet, he realized abruptly that he hardly knew anything about him, aside from the fact that he was kind, and extraordinarily beautiful.

“I mean, do you want to do something with me today?” The other man looked up. “Isn’t there someplace you’d rather be?” Hakyeon continued. There was a brief pause as the two pairs of brown eyes met and held.

“There’s no place I’d rather be than here with you,” Leo said with a breathtaking intensity. Hakyeon struggled not to swoon, actually swoon. He’d never swooned in his life. He could feel his face heating up and he turned away, waving a hand to cool it.

“Um. Okay. Yeah. Then, can we…go out somewhere?”

“Where would you like to go?”

Hakyeon thought about it. The possibilities were endless. Movies, bowling, coffee, a meal. Dancing was out, according to doctor’s orders, but maybe there was a show somewhere. Then again, he should probably keep it simple, so it didn’t feel like too much of a date. Was it a date? He probably shouldn’t want it to be a date. He kind of wanted it to be a date.

“Maybe we could go for a walk in the park, then grab something for dinner?” he suggested.

Leo nodded and Hakyeon’s heart leapt.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Hakyeon dashed into the bedroom and started opening drawers to see how much of his clothing had managed to make it into the new living space. Happily, it appeared that most of it had. At least, most of the things he wore on a regular basis. He’d left the hospital in sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee that his mother had brought for him from home, but he wanted to look nicer for their not-a-date. He grabbed a pair of nice jeans and a warm black sweater with a high neck. He brushed through his hair quickly, smoothing it as best he could, and put on a couple of silver rings. He blinked a few times at his reflection. It wasn’t his best, but it was certainly nicer than he’d looked in days.

He headed back out to the living room, where Leo was crouched down on the floor. It took Hakyeon a moment to realize that he was playing with the cat.

“Leo isn’t your real name, is it?” he blurted, immediately embarrassed at his lack of etiquette. The other man didn’t seem to notice.

The angel looked up from where he’d been delicately stroking Ink’s silky black fur. He shook his head to the negative. “It’s Jung Taekwoon.”

“Taekwoon,” Hakyeon echoed. The other man hid his face by turning away. “It’s a nice name. Why do you go by Leo?”

“I don’t,” Taekwoon said, rubbing Ink’s velvety ears. “Ken is the only one who calls me that.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Oh, the story changes, depending on when you ask him.” Ink had sauntered away to examine his food dish and Taekwoon stood, moving over to join Hakyeon. His heart fluttered at the closeness.

“Sometimes it’s because he says I’m like a cat. Chic like a lion. Which is nonsense, of course. Sometimes its short for Leonardo DaVinci, since I have an interest in basically everything in the arts and sciences. The list goes on.”

“I like both meanings. It’s a nice name. Would you prefer if I called you Leo or Taekwoon?”

“I prefer my given name.”

“You should have told me sooner. I’ve been calling you Leo all this time,” Hakyeon despaired.

Taekwoon shrugged it off with an elegant movement of one shoulder, but Hakyeon still felt a little sorry.

“Are you ready to go?”

Taekwoon nodded.

After donning their coats and shoes, they headed out into the November afternoon, where the air was crisp and fresh. Fallen leaves were skittering across the sidewalks and Hakyeon slipped on his gloves, a chill running down his spine. He was glad he’d worn a turtleneck sweater, because he no longer had a scarf. He surreptitiously watched Taekwoon as they walked westward, in the direction of the nearby park. The temperature didn’t seem to bother him. He had only layered a leather jacket over his teeshirt, which remained unzipped, and a black beanie covered his white hair, but somehow, he didn’t shiver in the cold.

It was only a five-minute walk to the park, which Hakyeon fully appreciated. He didn’t really enjoy running all that much, but he briefly considered the fact that now he’d have a nice place to run, or to take walks, whenever he felt the desire. It was a nice space and would be beautiful and green in the spring. There were cherry trees, too, near the stream that lead to the pond at the center.

They would have to cross the street to get there, but first, Hakyeon pointed to a little café that they were about to pass.

“Would you like to get a coffee?” he asked.

Taekwoon’s face brightened, and he opened and held the door for Hakyeon as he entered.

The scent of roasted coffee and sugar and spice was overwhelming after the smell of cold in the air outside. Both Hakyeon and Taekwoon simultaneously let out happy sighs, then giggled at each other. They placed their orders at the counter and Hakyeon quickly paid, much to Taekwoon’s chagrin. After collecting their cups, they exited back out into the streets and Hakyeon shuddered. He held his cup closer for warmth.

The tree branches rattled together in the breeze, making music, as he and Taekwoon passed beneath into the park proper. Even in the autumn, it was quite beautiful. The shades of brown and gold, with faint hints of red from leaves still clinging stubbornly to their branches, created their own color palette. Different, but attractive.

Also attractive was Leo, err….Taekwoon. They’d walked mostly in silence so far, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt companionable. They occupied each other’s space, keeping the other from being alone, but not forcing conversation, just letting it happen whenever it came. Hakyeon knew he’d always had the tendency to be a bit of a chatterbox, but he’d grown more distant when his life had started unraveling. Something had stolen his joy, leaving him feeling empty and strange. Now, he was starting to feel his happiness return, but he’d become accustomed to keeping his thoughts locked inside. Hopefully Taekwoon would still like him when he began letting it out again.

He was just so beautiful. His mouth was small and pouty and his cheeks were full, counteracting the sharper angles of his eyes and bone structure. His face was, as Hakyeon had thought at first sight, completely unforgettable. His white hair had a faint purplish tint to it, but didn’t show any dark roots, having been this same shade every time Hakyeon had seen him. It was as though it grew that way. Could it possible grow that way? Its fairness, along with his pale skin, highlighted the dark of his eyes, made them even more unfathomable. The combination seemed unnatural, and yet, it was hard to imagine him any other way. Hakyeon was very careful in taking his glances at the other man, not wanting to be caught staring. Everything about him, not just his face, radiated elegance and power.

His fingers were long and slender, graceful, like a piano-player. His body was long and lean, and he stood just a bit taller than Hakyeon, who was quite tall, himself. It was something he’d always prided himself on, and he usually didn’t enjoy being around people who were bigger than he was, but somehow, Taekwoon’s height, the breadth of his shoulders and the strong, sculpted arms that had peeped out from his teeshirt sleeves, made Hakyeon feel almost small, in a good way. He felt safe, secure. He loved the feel of Taekwoon’s hand in his. He wondered what it would be like to be in Taekwoon’s arms.

No, he couldn’t think like that. He barely knew him. He didn’t even know for sure if Taekwoon liked men. He could have just been holding Hakyeon’s hand out of comfort. Hakyeon held Hongbin’s hand and they were never lovers. Taekwoon seemed incredibly uncomfortable when Hakyeon had asked him to dance. But then again, he’d offered to buy Hakyeon a drink. He’d bought him flowers. He protected him and took care of him when he was sick and injured. And when they touched…Hakyeon still didn’t have any rational explanation for what that felt like.

“Are you cold?” Taekwoon asked suddenly. He placed his hand on Hakyeon’s sleeve and Hakyeon turned to him, jolted from his reverie. “You’re shivering.”

“Am I?” he asked, realizing for the first time that he’d huddled in on himself once his hot coffee had run out, so now he was wound up tighter than a toy.

“Do you want to go home?”

“No, not yet,” Hakyeon insisted. They were just passing by the pond, which had developed a thin crust of ice and was shining an ethereal silvery blue. It was lovely and Hakyeon was actually having a very nice time. He hadn’t even realized how cold he was until Taekwoon had mentioned it. The sun had slipped away behind some clouds and that seemed to have made the difference.

“Here, wear this?” Taekwoon took his knit hat off and slipped it over Hakyeon’s hair. It was very warm and he couldn’t help but smile at Taekwoon as he settled it carefully over Hakyeon’s ears and tucked his hair to the side in an affectionate manner.

“Do I look okay?” Hakyeon asked, tipping his head to the side, modeling.

They were very close, Taekwoon’s hand still resting against the side of Hakyeon’s face. They stared at each other, the air between them charged. Hakyeon’s heart leapt. _Please kiss me_ , Hakyeon suddenly thought, fervently. Taekwoon swayed slightly, growing even closer, but then was pulling back. He looked down at the ground. He took his hand from Hakyeon’s face and ran it through his own hair, fixing the white strands that had gotten rumpled beneath the beanie.

“Pretty,” he replied finally, nodding solemnly, and turning away to walk again. The feeling of rejection and disappointment flooded through Hakyeon’s body in waves. There wasn’t any reason to have thought that Taekwoon would, would ever, but for that briefest of moments, Hakyeon had really hoped…and it stung.

The first time he had touched Taekwoon, back in the bar, it had felt like an electrical shock. When he first woke, the next morning, he’d felt like he’d been drunk and was in the midst of a terrible hangover, but as time passed, he seemed to remember it more and more clearly. There had been flashes of images in his head, things that didn’t make sense, things he had never seen but that felt like memories, half-remembered. Or like waking up in the midst of a dream that fades away before you can commit it to memory, or voice it aloud. He felt the sensation of flying, of plummeting, of existing, yet not, and the dizzying energy that had flowed through him was better than any high he could possibly imagine. He remembered glimpses of the moments after, the way he’d needed to be close to Taekwoon; he couldn’t bear to be parted from him. It was an ache, deep within his bones, when he was taken from him to be put into bed, but he was too weak to fight it.

Taekwoon offered his arm. Hakyeon looked up at him, then took it, pressing closer to his side. It was warmer there, the heat from Taekwoon’s body was even better than a coat as they walked. They’d nearly made the entire loop of the park and the sky was just beginning to fall dark, beneath the cover of clouds. The city lights were gradually flickering on.

 “Look, it’s snowing,” Hakyeon said, looking up at the sky.

It seemed as though, just when they had touched, the flakes had just begun to fall, like magic, swirling amongst the trees in a vibrant dance. Reflecting the light from the streetlamps, they lit up the dark like a million fireflies. Taekwoon looked nearly as enchanted as Hakyeon felt.

Hakyeon could feel something of that same feeling, drawing him closer and closer to Taekwoon. Every time they touched, he was at peace, more than he’d ever felt before. Every time they drew apart, he longed for him more and more, detesting the separation. Did Taekwoon feel the same way? Could he even dare to hope for such a thing? There was only one way to find out. He had to be bold. Hakyeon looked down at their feet, then raised his face just a little, looking up at Taekwoon out from under his lashes.

“I’ve always wanted to be kissed during the first snowfall,” he said quietly.

Taekwoon went so still, he looked as though he weren’t even breathing. In fact, Hakyeon knew he wasn’t, because the visible fog in the air that appeared whenever he exhaled had suddenly gone. There was another long, electric silence between them. Silence. Longing. Each second felt like an hour as it ticked past, and the feeling of refutation returned. Hakyeon felt a lump forming in his throat. He’d messed up. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“I-I’m…sorry,” he stammered, starting to turn away, wanting to run away, but then was drawn back as he felt Taekwoon’s hand touch his shoulder.

“Wait,” the other man whispered.

Hakyeon turned his face up, looking into Taekwoon’s eyes, his own swimming with unshed tears. Was he about to get the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech? Taekwoon’s cold white fingers brushed over Hakyeon’s cheek. There was another brief moment of hesitation, of uncertainty, then Taekwoon’s lips touched his.

All of the tension, the stress, the fear, culminating in this moment seemed to disappear in an instant. The kiss was, at first, just a gentle press, but then Hakyeon moved his lips, wanting more, questioning, and Taekwoon responded in kind, reassuring. Taekwoon’s mouth was hot and sweet and Hakyeon could taste coffee and caramel syrup on his breath. He slipped his hands up Taekwoon’s back and pressed his body into him. He could feel the warmth stirring in his belly and struggled against his desire for _more_. Taekwoon slipped his hand from Hakyeon’s cheek into his hair, caressing the strands gently at the base of his neck, his cool fingertips gliding beneath the neck of his sweater, making him shiver.

Hakyeon knew now why his ribs formed a cage, as his heart hammered against them like a wild thing. He kissed Taekwoon with his eyes shut so tight, wishing it would never end. He was so warm, so sweet, everything Hakyeon had never known he wanted. But he wanted Taekwoon. He wanted him desperately.

But then they were moving apart, just a little. It felt like it was over too soon. Neither of them said a word as they gazed at each other. Taekwoon looked a little dazed, but Hakyeon smiled brightly, and wrapping both of his arms around Taekwoon’s arm, he pressed more firmly into his side as they slowly started walking again, close together, like a couple. Taekwoon seemed to be a bit shaky, for some reason, and this time, Hakyeon felt like he was the stronger of the two. He liked that he’d had that effect.

It was perfect, Hakyeon thought to himself. Taekwoon could not be less like any of the other men Hakyeon had ever loved. Not that he loved Taekwoon, he didn’t know him well enough for that yet, but… And he didn’t mean to compare, but no…in the end, there was absolutely _no_ comparison. It was like Taekwoon was made for him. The other man was obviously nervous and wanted to take things slow. And that was probably a good thing. Hakyeon had never been any good at slow, so yes, this was good. This was what they both needed right now.

“Was that…okay?” Taekwoon asked, very softly, interrupting Hakyeon’s thoughts.

“What?” he stopped walking to stare at the other. His cheeks and ears were flushed pink with embarrassment. “Yes, it was wonderful, Taekwoon. Why would you even ask that?”

He kicked a small piece of tree bark out of their path and into the grass. His shoulders hunched a little bit and he looked away.

“It was my first time,” he admitted.

“That was your first kiss?” Hakyeon asked, startled. “ _I_ was your first kiss?”

The man ran a hand through his white hair, dislodging the snowflakes that had caught there. His eyes flickered to Hakyeon’s, dark and slanted and surprisingly gentle, despite their depth and intensity. Hakyeon found himself lost in them all over again. He nodded.

Hakyeon’s heart began beating madly, all over again. He could feel his pulse in his throat, but the smile that spread across his face was revealing of the joy bubbling up inside his chest.

“That’s amazing,” he grinned. “May I, um, be the second as well?”

The corner of Taekwoon’s mouth quirked and his hand moved to Hakyeon’s slim waist as the shorter man leaned up onto his toes and their lips met again. This time wasn’t nearly so hesitant, but just as sweet. Somehow, Hakyeon thought, they probably wouldn’t be going out for dinner. That was good; he was already so full.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hakyeon and Taekwoon continue their not-a-date. Wonshik drops a truth bomb (feel this energy).

Taekwoon pressed the numbers onto the keypad to “his” apartment and the lock clicked open unceremoniously. It was dull compared to the cheery chimes of Hakyeon’s keypad. Taekwoon felt that was somewhat appropriate.

It hadn’t been part of the plan to come back to his apartment, but through the course of conversation, Hakyeon had asked its location, and upon discovering how close it actually was, he’d all but demanded to see it. According to Hakyeon’s self-defense, he claimed it was because he wanted proof that Wonshik wasn’t actually putting himself out in any way by allowing Hakyeon to stay in his other flat, which he still declared was too extravagant. Taekwoon could see right through him and scowled, though secretly amused that The Dancer thought he was being sneaky, when his curiosity and excitement were as plain as day. He’d eventually agreed, saying that they could watch a movie.

He opened the door and the apartment was fully dark, the curtains drawn over the window. A shadow moved, and they heard a strange rustling sound. Hakyeon shrieked, throwing himself behind Taekwoon.

“Shh…it’s just Wonshik,” Taekwoon said, smiling. He’d forgotten what poor eyesight humans have. In this case, it was fortunate. Apparently Wonshik had been resting, wrapped in his wings. He ushered Hakyeon inside, knowing the coast was clear.

“Sorry,” came Wonshik’s deep voice from the dark living room. “I didn’t realize you were coming home tonight or I would have just gone to my room.”

A lamp clicked on, flooding the space with warm light. Taekwoon had only seen the inside of this apartment once, when he’d briefly stopped in to drop off the satchel Wonshik had given him, and to deposit some food in the cupboards and refrigerator, as he had suggested, in case he’d dropped in unexpectedly with a human in tow. Just as he had today. Wonshik basically thought of everything.

As would be expected, it was spacious and beautiful. At least twice as large as the apartment Wonshik was lending to Hakyeon. Like the other space, it was an eclectic mix of old and new, sleek modern furniture with a stunning antique grand piano in the corner, and the artworks on the walls were obviously the real deal, not just prints.

Wonshik himself was on the couch, removing a set of earbuds. He was shirtless, wearing only low-slung track pants, and Taekwoon almost wanted to laugh at the way Hakyeon averted his eyes, cheeks growing pink. He would have done, if Wonshik wasn’t looking so diminished. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks were sunken and pale. The usual golden glow of his skin had taken on almost a greyish tint. He’d obviously expended a lot of energy, not such a short time ago, and he sat up with effort, the tension only visible in the hard set of his mouth. It would have to be extremely painful for him even to react. Taekwoon froze, looking him over for damage. His feet were red and raw, crusted with scabs, and he shoved his feet quickly into house slippers before the human could notice.

“Welcome, Hakyeon,” he said warmly. He grabbed his shirt off the coffee table, but didn’t put it on, instead dragging a throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over his shoulders to cover some of his exposed skin. Hakyeon looked back up and smiled shyly.

“Hi Wonshik.”

“Wow, you look so much better. I’m glad to see you out of the hospital. Are you feeling alright?”

The human stepped out from where he’d been partially shielded by Taekwoon.

“I’m so much better now, thanks to the two of you. I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done. If I’d known you would be here, I would have brought you something.”

“There’s absolutely no need. As I’m sure Taekwoon told you, you’ve done me a favor by caring for the place.”

“It’s not just that, though. The day you two came, after the,” he paused, trying to come up with the right word. “Incident,” he concluded. “You barely even know me.”

“We’ve got time for that, though, don’t we? And I’m sure that I speak for more than just me when I say we were more than glad to help,” he smiled. “Hey, don’t think I’m trying to be antisocial or anything, but I’m going to go to bed. I didn’t mean to crash on the couch, but I’m really not feeling well. If you’re staying, don’t worry about noise or anything. I’m just going to put my headphones back in.”

Taekwoon didn’t understand the flush that overtook Hakyeon’s face at those words. It was an innocent enough statement, wasn’t it?

“Have a good night,” Wonshik said, patting Hakyeon carefully on the sleeve as he passed.

“You, too,” Taekwoon and Hakyeon chimed in unison. Wonshik’s hand clasped Taekwoon’s as he moved past Hakyeon, and in his thoughts said, _Don’t worry._ _I’ll explain tomorrow_.

“Goodnight,” said Taekwoon quietly, aloud.

They both watched the bedroom door shut behind him.

Taekwoon was worried. He hadn’t seen Wonshik look so awful since he and Jaehwan….Jaehwan! He bit down on his lip, hoping against all hopes that Wonshik hadn’t run into Jaehwan, or discovered that he was back in town. When they’d parted on the hospital rooftop, Wonshik had said that he had work to do, but what kind of work would leave him looking like _that_?

As though he were reading his mind, Hakyeon placed a hand on Taekwoon’s arm. He’d obviously been watching him for a few moments, and the angel startled.

“Is Wonshik okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine.”

“You look worried.”

“I was just thinking. Everything is okay. Did you still want to watch that movie?”

Hakyeon nodded, his expression skeptical. He obviously knew that Taekwoon was keeping something from him, but there was no reason to get the human all worked up and frightened when Taekwoon didn’t know what was going on, himself.

While Hakyeon was picking out the film from the large collection lined up under the TV, Taekwoon made the tea Hakyeon had requested, dunking the little bag with single-minded concentration, hoping that he was doing it right. There were no instructions on the package, but the water was changing color, so that seemed a positive sign.

When he handed the cup to Hakyeon, the human inhaled the steam rising from its surface with pleasure and Taekwoon nearly heaved a sigh of relief.

His next moment of mild stress was realizing that the couch wasn’t exactly the best for cuddling. And Hakyeon wanted cuddling. With only one seat having a chaise and the rest regular cushions, they playfully argued for a moment over who was going to get the opportunity to put his feet up.

“Wait, I have an idea…How about like this?” Hakyeon suggested. “You sit down first.”

Taekwoon sat on the chaise and stretched his long legs out in front of him. It was very comfortable. But then Hakyeon parted Taekwoon’s legs, his hands a firm pressure on his shins as he placed himself between them and sat down carefully. The human’s body was very warm, and as he laid back against Taekwoon’s chest, the angel sighed in happiness. This was possibly the best idea ever. He wrapped his arms around the slender waist, drawing him closer.

Taekwoon buried his face in Hakyeon’s hair. He smelled like snowflakes and herbal shampoo and that warm scent that was distinctly Hakyeon. The angel resisted the urge to nuzzle into it deeper, to moan out his satisfaction. The warmth of the human’s body was seeping into his own and it was a struggle to resist the urge to push himself harder against the other man. Taekwoon wanted. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted, but he wanted…needed…more.

And after only a few minutes, Taekwoon realized that the movie held absolutely no interest to him, whatsoever. He couldn’t have even said what it was about, had he been asked. While Hakyeon was distracted by the story on the screen, Taekwoon had been able to focus all of his energy on exploring the feel of The Dancer’s body against his own. Every sensation was completely new and took some time to process and appreciate fully, so it was nice to have the time to do so.

After about twenty minutes, Taekwoon had had his moment to really _feel_ Hakyeon there, and while the plot finally began to advance, Taekwoon started to feel something akin to panic, not fully comprehending the heat that coursed through him as Hakyeon’s curvy bottom wedged more firmly between his thighs and made full contact with the front of his body. He’d felt a sort of stirring at the pressure, one he’d never felt before, and had to take several moments to focus on breathing, telling himself he’d reexamine the feeling another time, when he had more of an ability to make his brain function.

But it was then that Hakyeon had absentmindedly tugged against the neck of his sweater. Between the layers of clothing and the soft blanket they’d dragged over the two of them at some point, he’d appeared to be getting overwarm. He leaned forward, dragging the sweater over his head in a smooth motion that left Taekwoon’s mouth dry and fighting the urge to whisper a curse. The teeshirt beneath, clinging to the fabric, had rucked up, revealing an expanse of the smooth tan skin of Hakyeon’s back, taught over the bumps and curves of bone beneath. Taekwoon had yearned to touch, to see if it was as soft as it looked, but the shirt had fallen back into place just as abruptly. His hand twitched slightly from where it had fallen against Hakyeon’s hipbone. Taekwoon didn’t have even a moment to feel relief at the removal of temptation when Hakyeon had settled back against him and Taekwoon discovered the close proximity of The Dancer’s elegant neck, now revealed in full by the lack of sweater.

If not one thing, it’s another. He immediately leaned in closer, dizzy, seduced by the scent of Hakyeon’s skin. Feeling, or perhaps just sensing the movement, The Dancer’s eyes had darted over his shoulder and his lips curved as he tilted his head, just a little, just enough, to reveal more of that graceful line of his throat. Perhaps Taekwoon wasn’t the only one distracted from the film after all. Drawn in, he couldn’t help but press his mouth to that silky bit of skin. The sigh that fell from Hakyeon’s lips at his touch was intoxicating, and Taekwoon kissed there again, just a bit lower, hoping to hear that sound again, and flicked his tongue against the human’s flesh, tasting the warmth, the salt. It was even better than coffee.

Hakyeon’s heart had begun to race at the first touch, Taekwoon could hear it as clearly as his own, and as the angel kissed him again and again, trailing his lips and tongue over his exposed nape, he arched his back, leaning harder into Taekwoon’s chest, his breaths becoming shorter and faster. When Taekwoon experimentally kissed the human’s earlobe, tugging it very lightly with his lips, The Dancer moaned, high and soft, the sound coming from deep in his throat, and it shot through Taekwoon like a dart. Even as Taekwoon’s hands tightened on his hips, Hakyeon twisted his body in Taekwoon’s grip, and pressed their mouths together, kissing him with something entirely different than how they’d touched in the park. The electricity licked through Taekwoon’s veins like flames on kindling. And when he felt Hakyeon’s tongue touch the seam of his lips, his mouth fell open instinctually, and their tongues touched. His Dancer tasted so good, sweeter than the caramel syrup from the café, better than all his favorite things, like the rain in the mountains, and cherry blossoms, and winter air. The Dancer’s arms snaked around his neck and their mouths clashed together again and again. Taekwoon was growing completely drunk off the sounds Hakyeon made and the taste of his soft pink tongue, and the smell of the hormones that were positively radiating from his hot, tan skin, and he felt himself growing hard against the curve of The Dancer’s perfect butt. It was the pressure of The Dancer’s body deliberately leaning more firmly against his unexpected arousal that made the angel pull away, and, in agony, whisper, “Wonshik.”

There was a stunned silence. Hakyeon looked shaken, but then there was a moment of clarity as they both looked to the closed bedroom door, only about six meters away.

“Shit,” Hakyeon whispered back, then giggled a little as they both gasped for breath, trying to calm their racing hearts. “For a second, I thought you were calling me by Wonshik’s name,” he admitted.

Taekwoon’s face screwed up in horror. “No! I’d never…he and I would never…no, no no…” He shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of the reviling mental image.

Hakyeon laughed, a flash of his perfect white teeth, and fortunately, that had been enough to calm them both enough to where they’d been able to resettle into their previously relaxed position and watched the movie a bit more.

Or at least, Taekwoon pretended to watch it. His mind was racing with both the disappointment and excitement of what they’d just done. Did the human really want Taekwoon to touch him in _that_ way? Taekwoon knew what sex was, of course. It had been impossible not to see it at some point or another throughout his long existence. And he knew more than he cared to know about Wonshik and Jaehwan; the latter had never seemed to be able to shut up about it and the revolting noises he made in the throes of ecstasy could probably be heard for a twenty-kilometer radius. Taekwoon hadn’t exactly realized until just now what he’d been feeling, but it finally clicked. The overwhelming affection and admiration he felt for his beautiful Dancer had developed an entirely new facet: desire. Until now, he’d never really thought about physical intimacy as something that would be open to him. The thought was strange, but, now that it had been placed in his head, appealing. That The Dancer would want someone like Taekwoon to give him pleasure would have seemed ludicrous up until now. But when Taekwoon was kissing him, it seemed like he wanted it, perhaps nearly as much as Taekwoon had.

By the time the ridiculous movie had finally ended, Hakyeon was fast asleep in Taekwoon’s embrace, and Taekwoon was fully lost in his recollections of how it felt to lose himself in The Dancer’s kiss, the press of his body. He’d never felt so immortal as he had in that moment, and while he didn’t _fully_ understand yet what, exactly, that feeling entailed, he only knew he wanted to feel it again.

The clock on the wall read 11:26. It was hard to believe that only that morning, Hakyeon had still been in a hospital bed. How foolish of Taekwoon to allow the delicate human to overexert himself. He was ashamed of himself. He unwrapped his arms from around Hakyeon, who murmured something unintelligible in sleep, and he adjusted The Dancer’s body gently sideways, so he could carry him.

Lifting him easily, he cradled the human against his chest, taking him to the bedroom and gently tucking him into bed. The bed that was meant to be his had never even been slept in. He liked that it would always have the energy of Hakyeon in it. He pulled the blankets over him warmly and caressed Hakyeon’s cheek just once, the human leaning into the touch, even subconsciously, then headed back out to the living room to lay on the couch and deal with all of his conflicted emotions.

In the morning, Taekwoon awoke, face down on the cushions, warm and secure, wrapped up in his wings, and thoroughly confused as to how he could have possibly fallen asleep again, for the second time in his life. It felt just as abrupt and odd as it had the first time, losing all of that time with no memory of what had happened. Realizing he was revealed, he willed his wings away in a panic, relief flooding through him that he’d woken up before Hakyeon did.

He made his way to the kitchen, where he began to fill the coffee maker with grounds and water. It was, thus far, the only kitchen appliance he had learned how to operate, but he thought he was getting quite good at it, after a few failed attempts on Hakyeon’s coffee pot, at the other apartment. (Note to self: More coffee does not equal better coffee)

It was only about fifteen minutes later that Hakyeon emerged, wrapped in one of the sheets from the bed, probably lured by the fragrance of the brew. On his way through the living space, The Dancer was incredibly cute, his face puffy from sleep, red lines from the pillowcase firmly embedded in his cheek, but he didn’t respond to Taekwoon’s crinkly-eyed smile and call of “Good morning.” Instead, he continued his way to the kitchen, bedsheet dragging behind like a bridal train. Taekwoon watched fondly as The Dancer caught a reflection of himself in the shiny surface of the microwave and grimaced. The hint of eyeliner he’d apparently swiped on for their not-a-date had smeared until he looked like a world-weary raccoon, and, grimacing, he wiped it off as best he could with a napkin and water. Once he had secured his own cup of coffee and helped himself to a splash of milk from the refrigerator, he shuffled back to the living room and sat opposite Taekwoon, curling up in the armchair with his legs beneath him. The other man waited patiently.

Hakyeon sipped, his eyes closed. He paused for a moment, then finally responded, “Good morning,” in kind.

“Did you have any plans for today?” Taekwoon asked.

Hakyeon told him about a couple of shopping trips he had to make, as well as a visit to his mother. Taekwoon didn’t think that any of those things sounded like they included him, so he didn’t try to invite himself along. It was strange, thinking about letting the human go back off on his own. Somehow, Taekwoon hadn’t even imagined it.

“But would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” Hakyeon had asked.

Gladly, Taekwoon accepted. He knew he would be counting the minutes until that time.

He let Hakyeon borrow a shirt from his closet so he wouldn’t have to go home in the same thing he’d slept in (apparently this was some kind of human taboo), and was thankful to see that Wonshik had had the foresight to remove the tags from the clothing, which was obviously all brand new. Then Hakyeon kissed him in the doorway, gently, sweetly, promising to see him later.

After the front door had clicked shut, Taekwoon leaned against it, concentrating on his breathing. Once he’d calmed his heart, he wandered back over to the living room, wondering what he was going to do for the remainder of the day until it was time to see Hakyeon again. No sooner had he sat down on the sofa, though, than the bedroom door opened and Wonshik stepped out. He was still shirtless and tired-looking, as though the night before had never happened, as though time had not passed. He joined Taekwoon on the couch, then slumped, laying his head on the other angel’s lap. Taekwoon ran his fingers through Wonshik’s hair, soothing, pushing the soft black strands from his forehead gently. The other angel hummed in satisfaction.

“Tell me,” Taekwoon said.

This was familiar. There were countless times over their many years as friends that Wonshik would come to Taekwoon, withdrawn and pale, and pour his heart out. Wonshik would speak, Taekwoon would listen. That was their dynamic, and it was comforting to both.

With a deep sigh, Wonshik told Taekwoon all about Sung Min’s Dream, the pain, the desolation, how much it had taken out of him just to survive.

But survive, they did. With a heavy effort, Wonshik had pulled back the veil, holding Sung Min in his cupped hand, close to his heart, just as the last rays of sunlight faded between the cracked and broken buildings of the boy’s mind. On the other side, Sung Min emerged, whole and young and exactly as Wonshik had remembered. The boy sobbed against his chest, brokenly.

“How?” he managed to stammer, between gasping breaths.

The angel held him close as the boy babbled, confused about where he was, where he’d been, how they’d come to escape. Finally, when he’d calmed, he pulled back, and looked at Wonshik, glowing, winged, and decidedly not human. He didn’t seem surprised. Not at being dead. Not at Wonshik’s ethereal light. He just accepted it and chuckled, wiping the hot tears from his eyes.

“I always knew you were an angel, but I didn’t realize that was literal.”

Wonshik laughed, surprised.

“This is why I always liked you.” He caressed the boy’s face. “You are the perfect combination of smart and brave and funny; you would have been an excellent rapper, given more time. Given a chance. You always deserved so much more….”

Sung Min turned his face down, shaking his head, embarrassed.

“Why Chicago?” Wonshik blurted, unable to hold back his curiosity any longer. Sung Min tilted his head and thought.

 “It was always my dream. When I was fourteen, we visited my aunt, uncle, and cousin in Chicago. Hyung took me to an open mic where there were freestyle rappers, and rap battles. I was too young to stay past ten,” he laughed, “because that’s when they served alcohol, but it was enough. I fell in love with it. I felt free. I was able to express myself in words and music, in a way I’d never known before. So even after we came home, hyung sent me mp3s of the artists he listened to. He sent me the demos and mix tapes he picked up at shows. I had this dream that I was going to become a great rapper, then go back to Chicago and make it in the US, too. It’s stupid, right?”

“It’s not stupid. It was a beautiful dream.”

Sung Min rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I guess it was.”

“I’m sorry they were cruel to you.”

“I’m sorry I was weak,” the boy responded.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” Wonshik said, wiping the water away as it streaked down his friend’s face once more.

“And you have a choice now,” said another voice.

The two of them looked towards the sound of the voice, and Sanghyuk approached. There was no red cloth tied over his eyes, just a smile that made the brown orbs twinkle mysteriously. “I can open the veil for you, and you can move Beyond, or you can try again.”

“You mean it’s real? Reincarnation? The whole weird Buddha-Karma-Nirvana thing? I’m not just dreaming?”

“It’s real,” Wonshik said simply. It wouldn’t be all that helpful to get into specifics.

Sanghyuk took both of their hands, caressing them lovingly, waiting patiently for his decision.

“I want to try again; see if I can do better,” he said firmly. “I’ll work hard.”

“I know you will,” Sanghyuk responded. He let go of Wonshik’s hand and reached up toward Sung Min’s face.

“Wait,” Wonshik blurted. “Sung Min, I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“You _did_ save me. I never knew, there are far worse places than the world.”

Sanghyuk placed his hand on the back of the boy’s head and leaned in, touching their foreheads together. Sung Min looked away briefly, into Wonshik’s eyes, and smiled, the first genuine smile Wonshik had ever seen on his friend’s face, and then he faded into nothing.

Sanghyuk turned to Wonshik, then, and brushed the tears from the angel’s eyes.

“You have such a loving heart, Wonshik. You’re so good, so kind,” he praised. The angel wept in silence, the tears wetting his cheeks, welling in his waterlines, but this time, in equal parts sadness, exhaustion, and relief.

“You can find him again one day. If you want to. Just ask me. But for now, I want you to go back. You need to rest, but Taekwoon needs you, too.”

Wonshik was too tired to protest, and allowed Sanghyuk to take him into his arms, lift the veil, and place him gently on his sofa.

“You just need to help Taekwoon now. He doesn’t know the danger he’s in,” Sanghyuk whispered, caressing Wonshik’s wings softly as they wrapped around him. Then he was gone.

Taekwoon frowned. He didn’t like that The Seer didn’t seem to have any faith in him. He was going to have to talk to him another time. As a distraction, he asked Wonshik, “And the moth?”

Wonshik understood. “I didn’t ask, but I think I can answer that. In one of Sung Min’s songs, he’d called the other rappers ‘butterflies.’ You know, the way they flit around in their too-bright clothes, showing off, empty of any real substance. If they were butterflies, he felt that he was the moth. Drawn to the light, wanting to fly, but always left outside, in the dark, unwanted. Most humans love butterflies. They fear and shun moths. I don’t think he realized that moths are just as beautiful, or how resilient they are, how useful…”

Taekwoon considered all of the information. “It’s so sad,” he said, “for you to see the physical manifestation of his hopes and dreams, broken down and shattered, the way the city was.”

“It’s not just sad, it’s a damned tragedy,” Wonshik said, finally sitting up and scrubbing his hands over his face, trying to ease the ache behind his eyes. “And this is why, when I could feel that your Intent had changed, I didn’t want you to be a Malakhim. This isn’t the kind of life I want for you. Guarding a human is far more than just hanging around, being a boyfriend, or fucking on the sofa.”

“We didn’t f—” Taekwoon started to say, before cutting himself off. He didn’t really want to say that word and the fact that Wonshik knew _something_ had been going on last night was embarrassing enough. His face felt like it was burning.

“Taekwoon, you need to be careful,” Wonshik said with intensity. “Even Sanghyuk agreed with me. You’re walking a fine line right now. Caring for a human, even _fucking_ one,” he said loudly, talking over Taekwoon when he tried to protest, “is one thing. It’s fine, as long as you’re both consenting. And I really don’t care what you do with your dancer, so long as I don’t have to see it. But you have to realize how this is all going to end, Taekwoon. Hakyeon is going to grow old. He’s going to grow old and die, and you won’t. You’ll just keep living, on and on; you’ll lose him and it will break you. Just like it broke Jaehwan.” His voice had risen higher and the anger was evident in every word, in the way he held his shoulders, tense, staring at Taekwoon, fully intent. “You’re getting far too close to the edge already and I couldn’t bear to see you fall. I swear to you, I would die. I would die, Taekwoon. Can’t you see how much I love you? I can’t lose you _both_. I can’t.”

Taekwoon was speechless. He loved Wonshik, too. Very much. But this wasn’t about Taekwoon’s wellbeing at all. This was about Wonshik.

“How can you possibly make that speech, and then make the whole thing about _you_?” Taekwoon seethed. “Why are you doing this? And don’t pretend it’s to try to save me.”

“It _is_ because I want to save you! It’s because you were the only one of us who didn’t give in. You were exactly what you were supposed to be. You didn’t stray from your post. You loved God above all others. You inspired me to keep trying, to strive for your level of perfection, as imperfect as I was.”

“I’m not perfect, Wonshik. And if God wanted perfection, he wouldn’t have given us free will. We’re souls, not slaves. Being near Hakyeon has made me see things differently. Just because I was created for a purpose doesn’t mean I cannot have a life that is my own.”

“Isn’t that _exactly_ what it means?” Wonshik snapped back. “How can you not realize that this whole thing is much bigger than you and some pretty artist? You’re not the only one who is going to suffer because of this.”

“Why do you automatically assume that everything is doom and gloom and we’re all going to suffer? Is this about Jaehwan? Not every aspect of life is about suffering.”

“It _is_! Life _is_ suffering. And every relationship is going to end, either by death or by choice. Which leaves…suffering.”

“At least as a Guardian, you are allowed the opportunity to _live_. I was crippled! For endless years, I had to sit and Watch life pass me by. For my entire existence, I did nothing but Watch, without ever _having_ a life!”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Taekwoon! You don’t have to live with the never-ending guilt of the people you couldn’t save!”

“No, I have to live with the guilt of the people I didn’t even _try_ to save!”

“Fuck…” Wonshik moaned, putting his face in his hands. “That’s not what I meant. I just….I can’t…I don’t want to fight with you, Taekwoon.”

“I don’t want to fight, either.”

They both were silent for a moment, still angry, but at least more understanding.

“We can’t…change anything that’s happened, so let’s just…move forward,” Wonshik said, leaning back into Taekwoon. He moved slowly, prepared for rejection. Taekwoon breathed heavily, but allowed him to sink back down, to rest his head on his thigh, and sighed once more, threading his fingers back into Wonshik’s hair. He didn’t say anything, but Wonshik was always able to read him. He’d know.

Nine hours until dinner with Hakyeon.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hongbin has a very. bad. day. and Wonshik does something stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience, friends! I was out of the country over the holiday (I went to Toronto to see GOT7!) but then, when I got back, Comcast messed with my cable line and I was without internet for aaaaaages - it was awful! So thanks for sticking with me!

Hongbin balanced precariously on a stepladder, adjusting a lighting umbrella. TaeYong, the lead photographer, was huddled in conversation with the shoot director, but stopped his dialogue immediately, shouting “Yes!” at Hongbin as soon as he had the soft lighting hitting just the right spot. He hadn’t been chosen as the assistant photographer for this particular shoot, which had been a disappointment, but at least he would still be credited for his lighting design. A sudden buzzing against his hip made him wobble on the ladder. He planted his foot more firmly as he checked the screen.

_ << Hey Dream Bean, want to meet up for some breakfast at your namesake?_

Hongbin wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, smiling as he read the text. Hakyeon. This sounded like the _old_ Hakyeon and it made him want to flutter a bit with happiness. He wouldn’t, of course, he’d been far too emotional lately; his reputation for being an intolerable tsundere was going to suffer. He braced his feet on either side of the ladder for balance, and started to type, thumbs flying.

_ >> I wish. At work, then dance. Dinner?_

_ << I promised dinner to Leo. _☹

Interesting. They’d been spending an awful lot of time together lately. Leo was definitely interested. That had been easy enough to see since the night at the club. Did this mean Hakyeon was, too? Hongbin smirked, then typed.

                _> > You’re not cooking, are you?_

_ << What’s that supposed to mean???!_

Hongbin laugh-snorted at the immediate retort. He could see the stink face Hakyeon was making at his phone, as clear as day. He knew his friend all too well.

_ >> Do you like him? You’ll be lacking a boyfriend again if you kill him with food poisoning._

There was a long delay. Hongbin cheerfully fussed with the next umbrella, waiting for the inevitable lecture he was going to get in response to the insult. Usually with bullet points. When it came, it wasn’t as long as expected, which meant Hakyeon had spent several moments gaping at his text, not knowing what to say. This was even better. It meant Hongbin had hit the nail right on the head.

                _< < Okay, 1. My cooking isn’t that bad. 2. He’s not my boyfriend. _

He could feel a “but” hidden there.

                _> > BUT you want him to be. _

There was another pregnant silence in which Hakyeon did not respond, though the message bubble was clearly marked as “read.” Hongbin smirked. He _definitely_ wanted him to be.

                _> > Yep, you definitely like him._

He sent back. Then he froze.

                _> > Hold up, have you kissed him yet?_

Another silence.

                _> > Cha Hakyeon, you’d better start spilling right now._

“Hyung, have you finished with the reflectors yet?” a voice called from below.

Shit. Hongbin was jerked back to reality, swaying a bit for balance. “Nearly! Give me two minutes,” he shouted back.

“Once you’re done, there’s a broken barn door on four.”

“On it,” Hongbin called, sighing as he pocketed his phone.

He worked diligently for several hours, trying to ignore his increasing agitation over Hakyeon’s marked silence. A silence that meant he _had_ kissed Leo and was afraid he was going to get a lecture for it. A silence that Hongbin was growing rather unfortunately used to, thanks to Ken and his silence. He glanced at the clock on the wall for about the sixtieth time. It was getting very close to when he was going to need to leave, if he wasn’t going to be late to dance. Not only did his instructor have a glare that could curdle milk, but Hakyeon would kill him in cold blood if he skipped and wasn’t able to demonstrate what the other dancer had missed.

TaeYong-hyung had obviously noticed him watching the time closely, because he waved to catch Hongbin’s attention, smiled, thanked him, and gestured to the door. The young man bowed his thanks, congratulated everyone on their hard work as he grabbed his bag and dashed out into the November chill, wrapping his scarf an extra loop around his neck to keep out the icy tendrils of the wind.

Less than an hour later, between Hakyeon blatantly ghosting him and his frequent, increasingly-irritated texts, his already-bruised emotional state, and this travesty of a dance lesson, Hongbin was having a Very. Bad. Afternoon.

“Lower your arms, Hongbin. Your elbows should be below your shoulder. Not quite so much. Yes, just there. And pay attention to your turnout. You don’t want to look like a duck.”

Hongbin adjusted his foot and forced his hip to open up more. It was a deeply unpleasant stretch both in his groin and down the inside of his thigh. He’d never been criticized so much in a dance class as he had in this one. He knew, somewhere, deep down, that it was meant to help him improve, but at this point, he didn’t think improvement was even possible. Ballet was awful. He always spent a good 85% of the class wishing he could quit and the rest surreptitiously watching the other dancers, trying to simply mimic that which he didn’t know. It was easier for Hakyeon; not only did he have prior ballet experience, but dance came naturally to him. Like breathing. He had grace in every move he made. He looked like he was dancing when he was hailing a cab or washing the dishes (not that he ever washed the dishes). Hongbin was a walking disaster on the best of days and the more he actively tried to be graceful, the more he felt like a bull in a china shop.

Why did I ever let him talk me into this? He thought to himself, not really focusing on his port de bras, unable to move past his active irritation. He wasn’t a bad dancer, but he really didn’t have the patience or discipline for this kind of structure. His distress only amplified as he tripped over his own foot and stumbled into a bun-headed dancer, Ji Hee, who squawked indignantly, and he was scolded four more times over the course of the hour. By the end, when his instructor finally barked, “I don’t know where your head is today!” the tears were making his eyes sting and he could no longer even see his reflection in the mirror. That was the silver lining. At least he couldn’t see how badly he was fucking up anymore. Wanting nothing more than to take a bath and go to bed, he shot a text message to his stage manager claiming food poisoning, so he wouldn’t be expected at rehearsal, and left without even bothering to change.

Hongbin slouched back into the crowded street and moved along with the flow of foot traffic, finally feeling blissfully invisible. He didn’t consider himself to be a pessimist, he thought to himself. He wanted to believe that things would go well, but the fates obviously had a sense of humor and seemed to enjoy making him the butt of their best jokes. Like that time he’d been at his therapist’s office and _Big Girls Don’t Cry_ came on over the speakers as the man was scribbling off a prescription for antidepressants. Oh, beautiful irony. Life thus far had given him the mentality that he must hope for the best but be prepared for the worst.

That didn’t stop any of it from hurting like hell.

He glanced quickly at Hakyeon’s white apartment building as he passed by and wondered briefly if he should ring the bell. He’d checked it out after Wonshik had told him about it. The area was nice. Much nicer than the neighborhood he lived in. He hadn’t seen the inside of it yet, but he was sure Hakyeon would invite him over soon. Wouldn’t he? He wondered if Leo was there right now. He couldn’t help but feel a little hurt, like he was being replaced. The urge to see him quickly subsided at that thought.

He kept walking. He should have just gotten on the subway by now, but the anxiety and irritability was lessening as he walked, as his joints loosened, as the anger started to subside, drifting into space with the steam of his breath. Now he just felt sad. But there was a little park nearby, and one of his thinking spots was there. He thought he’d pay it a visit before he went home and took that bath he was already anticipating. With the bubbles he kept stashed in his dresser drawer where nobody would know they existed. His little secret.

He didn’t linger on the footpaths, but cut across the grass, crunchy with the cold, and headed towards the willow he could see, still mostly green, hovering near the pond and leaning toward it’s crusty surface at the park center. It seemed to welcome his approach, and he felt calmer already, just being in its presence.

Hongbin brushed aside the long, leafy branches, happy just to touch, seeking the shade and quiet, but instead of the solitude he’d sought, he found a familiar figure, curled up with his knees to his chest, leaning against the trunk in the lowermost branches of the tree, precisely where Hongbin liked to sit and mope.

The man lifted his dark head at his approach and soft black hair fell into his eyes. He looked drawn and exhausted.

“W-Wonshik?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

Wonshik’s expression was one of amazement. He had obviously been lost in his thoughts, not having noticed Hongbin’s silent approach.

His low voice wobbled a bit and Hongbin couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were a bit wet. “Hongbin…what are you doing here?”

They both were equally startled, but Hongbin recovered first.

“This is my favorite spot. I come here to think, especially when I’m feeling sad. The tree is my friend,” he said, stroking one of the draping branches, with just a hint of embarrassment.

Wonshik nodded. “It has good energy here. I also come here to think sometimes. It’s secluded. I’ve never seen another person here.”

“Me neither. Um..I can go, if you want. I’m sorry to disturb you,” Hongbin said, taking a couple of steps back.

“No, stay. I mean, if you want,” Wonshik said. “Or I can go?”

“I don’t want to disturb you.” They both paused, looking at each other quickly then darting away, trying not to meet the other’s eyes. “Well, if you really don’t mind sitting with me, I’ll stay,” Hongbin proposed.

Wonshik nodded, and stood up, stretching upward and grabbing another tree branch. He hoisted himself up easily, finding another place to sprawl out, just above Hongbin’s sitting spot. The movement was very graceful.

Hongbin followed, climbing into the cradle of the branches with far lesser grace, and lay back, looking up at Wonshik, who lay on his side comfortably, gazing down. It was close enough to be companionable, far enough away to not feel as though they were actually in each other’s space. This really was the perfect tree.

“Are you alright?” Wonshik asked, after a bit of a pause.

“Bad day,” Hongbin replied simply.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hongbin sighed. “It’s just stupid things, really.”

“You don’t have to downplay it. I’m a good listener. And I won’t judge.”

Hongbin didn’t doubt that. Wonshik had a kind, open face. “Do you really want to hear about my sordid love life?”

“Sure. At least you have a love life,” Wonshik gave a self-deprecating smile.

Hongbin took a deep breath. What did he have to lose? “Alright, if you really don’t mind…I’ve been seeing this guy named Ken. Well, I guess ‘seeing’ really isn’t the right word. We’re friends, kind of. We really haven’t known each other that long, but he’s nice and I like him, and we are in the musical together. The same one Hakyeon is in?”

Wonshik bobbed his head, that he knew, generally, the musical he meant.

“Right. Well, he came over my house one night and the next morning we kinda…”

“Got it on?”

“No! Well, we messed around.” The heat in his cheeks was nearly unbearable, but Wonshik didn’t react. He just tilted his head.

“Did you not want to?”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to. He didn’t, like, force me or anything, but he said he wanted to, you know, give us a try, but now he’s actively avoiding me. So I guess I’m starting to just feel kind of dirty and used and my feelings are hurt. I thought he liked me. I told him I would be patient, but I feel like he’s had second thoughts and just doesn’t want to tell me. So, he’s ghosting me instead.”

“I can see why you would feel that way,” Wonshik acknowledged. “Does he know how you feel?”

“I don’t really know how I feel at this point, but I think I made it pretty obvious that I wanted more. At least, more of what we were doing.”

“Do you still?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”

“What has he done since then?”

“He’s just being avoidant. He doesn’t want to talk to me, and even though he talks to other people, you can see that he’s not entirely there.”

“It sounds to me like there’s more to it, that maybe you don’t know about. He  _may_  just be an asshole who wants to jerk your heart around. It’s possible. But there’s usually another side to every story and people aren’t that kind of one-dimensional villain. Maybe he’s seeing someone else and feels guilty when he’s with you?” he proposed. “Or maybe he had a bad relationship and when he’s with you, he gets overwhelmed and scared and backs off? I mean, I don’t know this person, but I’ve spent a lot of time watching and studying the way people act and react. If you like him, you should probably just talk to him and find out what he’s running from?” Hongbin scowled and let both arms drop of the edge of the tree, going limp in his agitation.

“I can’t talk to him if he won’t talk to me.”

“True, but if you corner him somewhere secluded, somewhere that’s not rehearsal where there’s so many other people around, and offer your ear, he’ll do one of two things: he’ll talk to you, or he’ll run again. Then you’ll have an answer. At least you’ll have tried.” Hongbin tried to think up another protest, but he couldn’t argue with the logic.

“How did you get so smart?” he sighed. Wonshik grinned teasingly.

“God made me that way.” Hongbin raised an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a religious person.”

“No? Why’s that?” Wonshik asked curiously.

“Oh, uhh, I don’t know,” Hongbin attempted to stall, wishing he hadn’t brought it up. Religion was never a comfortable subject when you didn’t know where the other person stood. “I guess just, with the hip-hop and the tattoos, and the…I don’t know. Badass aura?” Wonshik laughed.

“I’m just playing with you,” he said. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m not religious, truthfully. I guess you could just call me, I don’t know. Spiritual?” He smirked, as though there were a joke in there somewhere that Hongbin wasn’t catching onto. “How about you?”

“Me? Well,” Hongbin laughed. “Believe it or not, I was a child monk.”

“No way?”

“I was! I lived with my grandmother at the temple.”

“You were probably the cutest mini-monk ever,” Wonshik exclaimed.

“I was pretty cute,” Hongbin acknowledged, shrugging a shoulder.

“Are you still practicing?”

“Not so much. I guess I just fell out of the habit.”

“It’s easy to do.”

There was a short pause, not uncomfortable, but no need to say anything. Surprisingly, Hongbin realized that he felt a lot better, just having gotten it off his chest.

“Thanks for listening to me.”

Wonshik smiled, reaching down towards Hongbin. He reached up and let Wonshik give his fingers a squeeze. “Hey, no problem. You have my number. You can call me anytime you want to talk.”

Hongbin let his feet dangle, then dropped down out of the tree back onto the ground.

“Are you leaving already?” Wonshik asked, sitting up.

“I think so. I called off from rehearsal tonight, and I haven’t eaten all day. So I’ll probably grab something to eat then call it a night.”

“Alright. Be safe, yeah?”

Hongbin nodded, and smiled, giving Wonshik a wave. He’d just raised his hand to part the draping branches when Wonshik called him back.

“Wait. Hongbin?” Wonshik was suddenly on the ground, just behind him. Hongbin was surprised to see that Wonshik was just a bit taller than he was. He had pretty eyes.

“Yes?”

“May I take you out to dinner?”

\---

The moment the words left his lips, the only thought that ran through Wonshik’s head was  _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Why did you do that?_  Everything about it was stupid, from the fact that Wonshik didn’t even like to eat human food, to the fact that there was no room in his life for another human to watch over, down to the old-fashioned courtesy with which the question emerged. He didn’t know why he did it, except he hadn’t wanted their time together to end just yet. He hadn’t had a moment yet to process why, exactly, and he was sure he wouldn’t like the answer.

He looked warily to Hongbin’s expression, trying to judge his reaction to the proposal. The boy looked astonished, though that wasn’t altogether unexpected; his doe eyes were perpetually startled-looking. Wonshik waited for Hongbin to make a decision, his mind moving too quickly to react. He was so beautiful, his features sculpted as though by a master artist. Hongbin couldn’t be more than, what, 20? 25? He wasn’t all that good with human ages, but regardless, he was only a child. But he was close enough to touch, and lovely as a flower, and the angel couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips when the boy stammered, “S-sure,” only a moment later.

“Though…I look gross,” he finished the thought, looking down at his dance clothes.

Wonshik looked down at Hongbin’s ensemble, consisting of a black jacket, partially unzipped over a white teeshirt that casually revealed a delicate collarbone, soft-looking black pants, and trainers. His hair was tousled into waves where the sweat from his exertion had dried in the wind. Gross definitely wasn’t the word Wonshik would use to describe him. Not at all.

“You look fine,” he replied casually. “We don’t have to go anywhere fancy, anyway. Ramyeon?”

Hongbin nodded. “That sounds good.”

They passed through the curtain of leaves and began to walk up the hill.

It was strange, Wonshik thought, how things had changed so quickly. The Malakhim’s first glimpse of Lee Hongbin had been like a kick to the teeth, back at the nightclub, and at that first glance, he’d loathed him on sight. He’d hid it well. He’d kept his calm patience and neutrality on the surface as he seethed underneath.

How could two humans look so much alike? If he hadn’t witnessed the time passing, Wonshik may have thought it were a trick of the eyes, and this was the same human who had unceremoniously punched him in the face over half a century ago. Even their names: Hongbin and Henry. It was only the eyes, their wide, guileless eyes – Hongbin’s, the rich brown of earth, and Henry’s, the pale blue of ice, that provided the biggest difference. Otherwise, they both stood tall, lithe, and pale, with dark hair, wavy and windswept, dimples in cheeks, strong jaws…it was almost too much.

And yet, Henry’s voice had been higher in pitch, a loud and excitable midwestern American accent lengthening his vowels and hitting strangely upon Wonshik’s ears. Hongbin’s voice was lower, more soothing. And it was Henry, not Hongbin, tangled in Jaehwan’s tight embrace.

Their walk through the park together, side-by-side, suddenly felt awkward. Wonshik could see Hongbin peeking at him out of his peripheral vision every so often, just as he had when they’d been sitting together in the front seat of the car, the week before. He wondered if Hongbin could have felt his sudden spike of animosity from where they’d sat in silence that night. He hadn’t meant it. He knew Hongbin wasn’t Henry and it wasn’t fair of him to compare the two.

“So, tell me more about this guy you like,” Wonshik mused aloud, breaking the silence. Normally he wouldn’t have cared, but he was strangely curious about what attracted Hongbin to his fellow human.

“Ugh, I’d rather not talk about Ken anymore,” Hongbin moaned. “It stresses me out. I’m beginning to think he’s maybe just kind of a jerk. Why don’t you tell me about Leo instead?”

“About Leo? Why Leo?”

A spike of an unpleasant emotion ran through him. It wasn’t jealousy. That would be ridiculous. Perhaps he felt overprotective of his friend, being seen and interacting with humans for the first time?

“He’s presumably with Hakyeon right now,” Hongbin continued, “and he’s your best friend. If _your_ best friend is possibly going to be dating _my_ best friend, I’d like to know a bit more about him.”

Wonshik thought about it.

“Leo is…sweet,” he said lamely. Hongbin gave him a look. “No, really. I’m not trying to cover anything up, it’s just, I don’t know how to describe him. He’s naïve. Innocent. He’s never had a boyfriend before.”

“You’re telling me he’s some kind of 25-year old virgin?” Hongbin blanched.

Unable to control it, Wonshik huffed a laugh. Twenty-five? Try twenty-five- _hundred_ -year-old-virgin.

“Yeah,” he managed to get out. “Yeah, that about covers it.”

“That’s…worrisome,” Hongbin said, running his hand over a clump of brittle leaves that hung clustered from a nearby branch. They broke beneath his fingers, sprinkling to the ground.

“You’re telling me. I’ve been worried sick.”

“I’d really hoped that Hakyeon would stay out of a relationship for a while and just take some time to be single this time around,” Hongbin said, pressing the button at the crosswalk as they approached the intersection at the corner of the park grounds, then, when it didn’t do anything productive, thumped it harder with his fist. It beeped obligingly at the rougher treatment.

“No offense to Hakyeon, because I like him very much,” Wonshik said, “But I’d hoped the same. Leo is…fragile. He could get hurt very easily. He’s put Hakyeon on a bit of a pedestal, as you may have noticed, and if he’s not careful, Hakyeon could ruin him. I mean that literally. He could destroy Leo.”

He couldn’t tell Hongbin what he really meant, the secret that they both were hiding that he could feel physically in the tingle at his shoulder blades, but he tried to emphasize the importance of his words, looking Hongbin straight in the eye as he spoke. The young man looked as though he was confused, not unexpectedly, but taking the words to heart nonetheless.

“He’s sensitive,” Hongbin acknowledged, interpreting Wonshik’s words to the best of his abilities. It was close enough. Hongbin looked down at his feet. “Hakyeon is, too. More than he lets on. And he’s been in two physically abusive relationships in a row. Can you promise me that Leo won’t hurt him?” He looked back, a challenge in his eyes, setting his jaw. And there. _There_ was that courage he’d seen when Hongbin faced off against Caleb. Wonshik flexed his fingers tightly in his pocket, resisting the urge to run his fingers over that jaw. Ugh. What was he even thinking?

“Leo would  _never_  hurt Hakyeon,” Wonshik said resolutely. They crossed the street.

From there, the conversation edged into safer territory. Hongbin spoke a bit about his job, working for a popular photographer. He occasionally got to take some of the pictures himself, but more often than not, ended up doing the grunt work of setting up, tearing down, and aiming lights. Wonshik assured him that paying his dues would be worth it in the end.

When the boy asked what he did, Wonshik gave his usual answer of ‘personal bodyguard.’ It was close enough to the truth to not _really_ be a lie.

“Do you have a gun?” Hongbin asked teasingly, looking him up and down as though scanning for weapons.

“What makes you think I’d need one?” Wonshik asked with a dangerous smirk.

“Wah! That gave me the chills, look!” Hongbin laughed, pulling back his shirt sleeve to show that he did, in fact, have goosebumps.

Wonshik grinned and bumped Hongbin with his shoulder, who bumped him back, smiling.

The Ramyeon restaurant was only a few blocks down, and after they’d passed the usual assortment of cafes, dry cleaners, druggists, and shops, Wonshik opened and held the door for the boy. It was nondescript, posters plastered over the windows and walls and worn linoleum on the floor, but the smell was absolutely fantastic as the steam escaped into the autumn cold. Regardless of how he felt about the actual process of eating (and worse, digesting), even Wonshik wasn’t immune to the mouthwatering scent of the pork, seafood, and fresh herbs. It was…pleasurable. He led them to the counter nearest the kitchen. “Have you been here before?” he asked.

“Never,” the boy replied, shaking his head, before removing his coat and hanging it on the back of the stool. He laid his dance bag on the floor beneath his feet.

“You’ve been missing out.” He handed Hongbin a simple menu, printed on colored cardstock. “I recommend the abalone, but if you’re not that fond of seafood, the roasted pork is excellent, too.”

They placed their orders and it was only moments before their food was set in front of them. Wonshik nearly moaned at the scent rising from the luscious broth, loaded with not just abalone, but shrimp, scallops, scallion, bean sprouts and hot peppers. It would be worth the agony he would go through tonight just for this.

“You were right,” Hongbin sighed blissfully after the first mouthful. “I’ve been missing out.”

The human emptied his bowl in record time. For as waifishly thin as he was, the boy could certainly eat. He’d placed his hands over his stomach, which looked a bit distended. Wonshik acted as though he was going to poke Hongbin, just above his belly button.

“Nooooo,” he moaned, crossing his arms over his abdomen to protect himself and cringing away. Wonshik giggled until Hongbin flashed him a million-watt smile in return. Then, the angel turned away, flushing, and fumbling for his wallet. Stupid Wonshik. Stop playing with the human.

He quickly paid, hushing Hongbin’s protests with a firm “I’m your hyung,” and ushered him out the door. Once they were back onto the street, his mouth was back to running again, without thinking about the words coming out of it.

“Can I give you a ride home?” he blurted. “I’m parked not far away.”

Stupid, Wonshik! What the hell are you doing?

“Oh, no, I couldn’t. You’ve already kept me company and bought me dinner, and—"

Wonshik just laughed and looped his arm around Hongbin’s. “Oh, come on.”

And they made their way back towards his car. In the sun’s dying light, Wonshik examined the smile playing at the corner of the boy’s lips as they walked. He seemed calm. Happy. So different from the tragedy that had played in his eyes when he first arrived at their tree. Their tree? And come to think of it, he didn’t look anything like Henry at all…

Stupid Wonshik.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hakyeon and Taekwoon have a date, and a secret is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos and comments make me so happy, friends. Thank you so much for all of the support - I can't tell you how grateful I am for all of the kindness I have received as a result of this fic. I love you!

When Taekwoon arrived at Hakyeon’s apartment, it felt strange to be approaching via the staircase when he’d slipped in through the window more often than not, and even stranger to knock on the door, when he already knew the code to get in. He should probably try to forget that. It wasn’t his apartment after all, he reminded himself.

This was made even more blatantly obvious as a smiling Hakyeon opened the door. His first instinct was to lean into the slightly smaller man, whom he’d missed with a quiet desperation while they were apart, but as the human wrapped his arms around Taekwoon’s back, closing the gap between them, he caught a glimpse of the living room over the other man’s shoulder, and was momentarily distracted. It looked completely different than it had only 24 hours ago.

The furniture was the same, but either Hakyeon had been to his old apartment, or he’d gone on a spending spree, because the bookshelves were mostly filled, the walls were adorned, and little personal touches were everywhere. Not to mention, the whole room was illuminated with the light of at least twenty candles, casting their dancing shadows across the space. No electric lights anywhere. Some were in glass jars of various sizes, others in tiny votives, and on the kitchen counter, where two place settings had been laid out for dinner, there were tall candles making up a centerpiece, with fresh flowers.

“What is all this?” blurted Taekwoon, amazed. Hakyeon drew back, smiling.

There was music, too. Something Taekwoon didn’t recognize, but it had guitar and violin and sounded like something he would have heard a long time ago. It reminded him of the French countryside, which to him was both soothing and melancholy, in equal measures. He supposed to most people, it would sound romantic.

“Is it too much?” Hakyeon asked, gazing into Taekwoon’s eyes, lashes fluttering. The angel could feel his heart liquifying like so much candle wax as he reached into their depths.

“Not too much. It’s beautiful. Just, unexpected.”

“Well, here, let me show you!” Hakyeon beamed, pulling him enthusiastically from the doorway, only allowing barely enough time for Taekwoon to toe his shoes off onto the (new) braided rug and let the door swing shut behind.

“I made these. All of these. I’d been storing them at my parents’ house,” Hakyeon announced proudly, dragging him around the living room, showing off the various candles to Taekwoon, explaining in detail what made the right scents and how one could include flowers or other plant matter, just to make it pretty. He had leaned over a side table and was pointing out the mugunghwa he’d incorporated into the wax when Taekwoon had heard quite enough about candles. As much as he appreciated The Dancer’s enthusiasm, and while he was, honestly, very impressed with Hakyeon’s industriousness and diverse artistic pursuits, Taekwoon couldn’t resist the draw of the bare skin Hakyeon had left exposed with his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

“Mugunghwa is also called the Rose of Sharon,” he was saying, pointing at the brilliant pink petals, “and…oh…” He made a small noise in his throat, like a sigh, as Taekwoon trailed his lips down the side of his neck.

Taekwoon slid his hands around The Dancer’s waist, drawing him back against his chest. He continued to kiss down onto his shoulder, hooking one finger into the neck of Hakyeon’s shirt, pulling it aside to reach more of his soft brown skin. He could feel as well as hear the human’s heartbeat quickening and his breath hitched prettily with each caress of his mouth. He loved the way The Dancer reacted to him. It was powerful.

Hakyeon rotated slowly, turning to face Taekwoon, who never stopped moving his lips, down onto his collarbone, dipping his tongue gently into the hollow. The Dancer stepped backward, one step, then two, leaning back slowly onto the couch. Taekwoon followed, no thought but to stay as close to his human as physically possible, until the length of his body lay on top of Hakyeon’s.

They’d never been so close and Taekwoon felt dizzy with the rush of sensations. He could feel the blood moving through The Dancer’s veins, felt his body rise and fall with The Dancer’s breath as it raced, and thrilled to hear their hearts beat in tandem. He felt suddenly…whole.

“I don’t understand this,” the angel whispered against Hakyeon’s slender throat, a subtle quirk of his hips betraying his meaning. “I don’t know what it is that I want. I mean, I do. I do, but I don’t know what to--  ”

“Shh….” Hakyeon reached out and gently lifted Taekwoon’s face to his. With one shuddering breath, their lips met, and moved.

The Dancer kissed him slowly, sweetly, holding his cheek with one graceful hand, the other running teasing fingers slowly over his biceps as his left knee rose up and hitched around Taekwoon’s hip, slotting him between his long legs, drawing him even closer. The Guardian held himself propped on his elbows, their chests pressed together, knotting his fingers into Hakyeon’s soft black hair.

Hakyeon kept moving his hands, exploring Taekwoon’s body, and he shivered as those delicate hands moved up his arms, to his shoulders, then down over the raised lines that marred his back, over his shoulder blades, where his wings emerged. To a human, it would probably just look like a big, ugly scar, but to Taekwoon, the feeling of Hakyeon’s hands unanticipatedly crossing over his scapulae, even through his shirt, brought him so close to the edge of an unexpected climax, he thought his entire body would burst into flames. The pleasure shot through his veins like a drug; he never knew it would feel so erotic.

Hakyeon smiled, noting his reaction (though likely completely unsuspecting as to the reason why, Taekwoon thought), took Taekwoon’s free hand and drew it up to lay against his own cheek, then drew him closer. “Do you know yet what you want?” he murmured against the angel’s cheek.

They were close – so close. He tried to focus on Hakyeon’s quick, fluttering breaths on his face rather than The Dancer’s hardness, pressed too lightly against his own. The angel looked down at his lips.

“I think,” he said, then froze, as Hakyeon’s chin tilted upward, seeking another kiss. He took another shuddering breath. “I think I…uhh…Hakyeon?” Taekwoon felt bad for interrupting, but something smelled strange. Something that was definitely not candles, nor was it an appetizing food smell. “Is something…burning?”

Hakyeon froze.

”Oh no! The dakmaeuntang!”

Taekwoon fell flat on the floor as Hakyeon gave him a hearty shove and went racing off into the kitchen, somehow graceful even in his panic, and lifted the lid from a large red pot on the stove. The acrid smell of burning grew immediately stronger as the steam rose, and he whined loudly, shoving the pot onto the other burner with a screech of metal-on-metal. The Dancer swore creatively under his breath and Taekwoon sat up, fighting to keep from laughing. It was quite funny hearing such rough language spoken in such a sweet voice.

“Is it okay?” he asked innocently, still sitting on the floor next to the couch.

Hakyeon filled a glass at the sink and poured a little bit of water into the pot.

“Hmm…maybe,” he said, sullenly scraping at the burned pieces of chicken that had adhered to the bottom of the pan.

Taekwoon rather thought the addition of the water had likely just spread the burned flavor to the rest of the food that had not been initially scorched, but what did he know? He stood, only a little disappointed at the loss of their sweet intimacy, too amused by The Dancer’s sulking expression, and made his way to the kitchen. His pout was _adorable_.

 He poked at Hakyeon’s lower lip, which had jutted outward, and smiled at him. The Dancer sighed.

“I just wanted it to be perfect is all.” He stuck his finger into Taekwoon’s chest. “You’re a distraction.”

The angel laughed. “Should I not distract you anymore?”

“Distract me always,” The Dancer responded, then turning back to the stove, blushing. “I’ll just finish up. You sit over there?”

Taekwoon did as he was told and sat down at the counter, where The Dancer had pointed, and watched with interest as he spooned some kind of lumpy batter from a bowl into a hot pan. They sizzled for a few moments, creating a scent that Taekwoon found somewhat familiar, though he couldn’t remember where. Hakyeon scowled at the little patties as they clung stubbornly to the surface, foiling his attempts at getting them to flip over. After a few tries (and a few more muttered curses), The Dancer had a little pile of the patties on a plate, all of which were in various states of abuse, whether too dark, too light, or nicely crispy-looking, but thoroughly mangled.

He set them on the counter with a dubious glance, along with various bowls he pulled from the refrigerator with various cold side dishes.

He scooped hot rice from the rice cooker on the counter, which had begun to play a little tune, and finally, added the pot from the stove, which he set on a trivet.

He sat down next to Taekwoon and gave him a little smile, and an expectant look.

“I don’t know where to start,” Taekwoon said, parroting an expression he’d heard once, that seemed to suit the occasion.

“Hmm…maybe we should try this first,” Hakyeon said, regarding the chicken dish that had interrupted their tryst.

May as well give it a go. Taekwoon fumbled with his chopsticks a bit, having never had reason to use them before, scooped up some of the meat, and popped it in his mouth. He chewed. And chewed. And chewed. And swallowed. Hakyeon stared at him, eyes wide with hope.

 _This_ was food? This was what humans got so excited about? Taekwoon made a herculean effort to resist scrunching up his face. Those poor people.

“It’s good,” he said, forcing himself to smile. Hakyeon exhaled loudly, relieved, and began to show off the other dishes.

“These are oyster fritters. My sister sent me the recipe. I followed it just as she said, but for some reason, they turned out flatter than hers usually do. And they usually don’t stick. I don’t know what I did wrong. The side dishes are yeongeun jorim…and this one is made with dried gosari. I can’t remember what they’re called. These my mom made. She and my dad stopped by this afternoon. She said she was sorry to have missed you,” Hakyeon babbled awkwardly, filling the silence. “My dad wants to meet you, too, but we may want to hold off on that for a bit. These are just vegetables I stir fried. This is her kimchi. She brought a lot. And then there is rice. Did you see my new rice cooker? Hongbin got it for me. It arrived this afternoon. I’m going to have to send him a thank you note.”

With great reluctance, the angel forced himself to start trying the various foods. The kimchi was good. Crunchy and tart, with a hint of something hot that made the back of his nose sting. He ate it with the rice and was much happier when the scorched chicken taste had left his mouth. The dishes that The Dancer’s mother had made were all excellent and he enjoyed immensely. The Dancer’s food…well, he tried. Taekwoon was touched by the effort he had put in, trying to make a meal for him. He swallowed more of the soggy oyster batter and chicken-briquettes than was probably necessary, in an effort to soothe Hakyeon, who, he noticed, had only taken one or two bites of his own dishes and was watching Taekwoon in amazement.

They had just finished their dessert of fruit and cream and made their way back to the living room, when he asked, curiously, “Hakyeon, was this…are we…on a date?”

The Dancer’s face flushed a deep crimson and his arms immediately crossed over his stomach in a self-protective gesture. “I, um, it doesn’t have to be. I mean, neither of us have actually said that we—”

Taekwoon immediately felt bad. He hadn’t meant to cause offense. He’d never been on a date and he wasn’t sure.

“It’s a nice date,” smiled Taekwoon, pressing his lips gently to Hakyeon’s. The Dancer melted into the kiss, his body growing pliant in Taekwoon’s arms. “Thank you. You worked so hard. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.”

“I’ll do better.”

“It must have taken all day.”

“You deserve…so much…” The human grew flustered as he tried to speak. “So much more than I can ever give. Or repay.” The angel waited patiently, but Hakyeon seemed to just get agitated, and started to turn away.

“Hakyeon, darling, what’s wrong?”

The Dancer looked up, his dark eyes anguished. “ _Am_ I your darling?”

“Yes,” Taekwoon gasped. “And more. Hakyeon, you are everything. Everything to me.”

Tears were beginning to slip from the corners of the human’s eyes. Taekwoon didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what was happening. Surely it was obvious how much he loved Hakyeon, adored him, worshipped him, even.

“What did I do wrong? Tell me, please, because I never want to do it again. Sweet, beautiful, wonderful Hakyeon,” he whispered, pulling the human close. “Dear one, I—”

Hakyeon kissed him again, cutting off his words, to which Taekwoon was extraordinarily thankful. This kissing, this was easier. He sank back onto the sofa, drawing Hakyeon down with him. They sat next to each other, their bodies curved around one another’s as they kissed. Taekwoon was still trembling from nerves, unsure of what Hakyeon needed, what he hadn’t given.

Hakyeon pressed his lips to Taekwoon’s again and again. The angel let out a sweet sigh against the human’s mouth, relaxing a little, and Hakyeon seemed unable to do anything but whisper his name as he skimmed his lips over the other’s cheek, his jaw, his pale throat. “Taekwoon,” he said again. “I want you to touch me.”

“Where?” the angel whispered. He held up his palm, to show his willingness to obey. It was shaking again, in spite of himself, and he felt ashamed at the way Hakyeon must find him lacking.

“Don’t be scared,” the human murmured, kissing the pad of each finger, then drawing Taekwoon’s hand to his waist, where it immediately wrapped around him. “It’s just me.”

That’s exactly what Taekwoon was afraid of.

Wanting to do as Hakyeon asked, he slipped his hand beneath the hem of The Dancer’s shirt, at the small of his back. The radiating heat of the smooth skin beneath the flat of his palm felt so good and The Dancer let out a little moan.

“More,” The Dancer murmured against his neck.

Everything about his human was fragile, breakable, even to humans. His former lover had proven that. Taekwoon could break The Dancer so easily – he had to be careful every moment.

He slid his hand up, gently, yearning to press kisses, rather than fingers, to each and every bump of his delicate spine. He caressed his smooth, broad back, over his ribcage, over the curved lines of bone until he reached his chest, his thumb accidentally brushing against one peaked nipple. The Dancer shivered and whined into his mouth, seeming to enjoy the feeling. Taekwoon’s breath caught, dragging both hands down to the human’s butt and pulling him ever closer, their legs tangling together.

“Every time you touch my skin, I feel like I’m inside your mind,” Hakyeon whispered dreamily. “Not, like, reading your thoughts or anything, but, I just feel so close to you. Like our feelings flow together, like we’re one being, not two.”

Taekwoon knew exactly what he meant. The more they touched, the more energy they shared, the closer together their souls became, binding. It was old magic. This was why angels touched so rarely. And those intimate touches were intoxicating. He wanted more and more. It wasn’t just the emotional bond, anymore, either. The yearning for a physical union was nigh on unbearable, and when Hakyeon pressed against him, he felt both relief and an increased desire for more that left him wanting to beg: beg for what, though, to stop, to allow him respite from the longing, or simply for more and more? He wasn’t sure.

Hakyeon seemed to be feeling it too, as he retreated, just a little. He looked nervous all of a sudden, almost as nervous as Taekwoon felt, and moved slowly, as though allowing time for Taekwoon to push him away. He didn’t.

Hakyeon raised himself up on his knees, then sank back down onto Taekwoon, straddling his lap, distributing his weight between Taekwoon’s thighs and his own knees. The angel rested his hands back on the human’s hips, wondering what he would do, but then he could feel the hardness between the other man’s legs as he settled against him. Gathering his courage, he shifted his hips forward, rubbing his own erection against it.

Oh, it felt good.

Taekwoon remained silent but knew his mouth had formed a perfect ‘O,’ and he forced his jaw closed as his fingers squeezed Hakyeon’s hips tighter. Hakyeon leaned forward, cupping the angel’s face in both hands and touched their lips together as he moved, repeating the gesture, gently. The kiss was feather-light, their lips barely brushing, again and again. He slipped one hand back into the soft white hair and tilted Taekwoon’s head, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. Taekwoon responded by rolling his hips up against Hakyeon.

The stronger pressure and friction drew out a gasp, and, encouraged, Taekwoon did it again. Hakyeon moaned into his mouth, his parted lips drawing forth the angel’s tongue, which skimmed across Hakyeon’s soft lower lip, before sucking it gently. They had both started moving their hips now, pressing together, building a rhythm, very slow and steady, getting the most out of each caress.

Taekwoon slid one hand back up onto Hakyeon’s back, caressing his bare skin, pulling him closer until they were chest-to-chest, flush against one another, and used the hand still on Hakyeon’s hip to guide him into moving faster.

Their desire quickly built, and Hakyeon began to ride Taekwoon in earnest, faster, grinding harder into his lap. The human was whimpering now, letting out tiny pained noises each time they clashed together. The sound was so damn hot. The angel threw his head back, gasping for breath and Hakyeon took that opportunity to suck a mark into his pale flesh at the juncture where neck and shoulder met. Even though he knew it wouldn’t last long on his skin, Taekwoon, for his part, couldn’t do anything but moan, panting out little gasps of Hakyeon’s name.

Their pace was frenzied now, thrusting together as though to see just how long they could last, and in the end, it was Hakyeon who couldn’t take anymore. With a throaty cry of Taekwoon’s name, he came, jutting up against him. Seeing how fucking gorgeous he looked, eyes clenched shut, cheeks and throat flushed, head thrown back as he cried out, Taekwoon immediately followed.

They rested against each other’s shoulders, gasping for a few moments, before either could talk.

“Wow, I haven’t done anything like that since I was a teenager,” Hakyeon giggled. Taekwoon just felt dazed and took a few more minutes to calm his racing heart. He was so content, breathing in Hakyeon’s scent that he hated to disturb the quiet, but he had a question that was playing on his mind.

“Is that what sex feels like?” Taekwoon finally asked, shyly.

“Oh, no,” Hakyeon murmured. “Sex feels even better.”

He’d never felt anything like what he’d just experienced. The heat of their passion felt like it consumed him, and he lost himself in it, releasing into his jeans with the taste of Hakyeon on his lips and the heat of Hakyeon all over his skin. What must it be like to feel like that with their bodies joined?

“I don’t know how anything could feel better.” Taekwoon trembled, unable to even imagine.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you.”

Hakyeon smirked just a little as Taekwoon gulped, and he nipped at the angel’s earlobe, playfully.

They rested in each other’s arms quietly, just a bit more, until Taekwoon was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. The front of his jeans, which had been hot and wet, was now growing cool and sticky. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

“Taekwoon?” Hakyeon asked.

He hummed questioningly.

“Stay with me?”

“Of course I will. Always,” said the angel. What kind of a question was that?

“I mean, stay the night.”

“Is that okay?”

“We’ll sleep in my bed and just hold each other.”

He nodded, unable to think of anywhere in the universe he’d rather be.

\---

The next morning, Hakyeon woke feeling more boneless and relaxed than he’d ever been in his life. He was pressed into Taekwoon’s warm body, with gentle fingers combing through his hair, and a beautiful, angelic voice singing softly into the morning air. He didn’t know the song. It was in a language he didn’t understand.

He rolled over and Taekwoon’s lovely face was gazing down at him with something that looked like love. It made Hakyeon try to hide his face, but the corners of his mouth turned up. The other man smiled as well, settling him more comfortably in his arms, and kissing his forehead.

“Good morning, my darling.”

For a moment, Hakyeon didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to express the overwhelming relief he felt upon waking, for so many things: that Taekwoon was still there, that he had stayed, that Hakyeon wasn’t lying next to Caleb anymore, that he could move without feeling bruises, that his apartment was filled with sunshine and music and the warm presence of this man he was very quickly falling in love with.

“Good morning,” he finally whispered, burying his face in Taekwoon’s chest, overcome with emotion.

He liked it when Taekwoon called him pet names. Even though he hadn’t ever given him a distinct, verbal confession like Hakyeon had dreamed of, the way he’d stammered and apologized last night and called him lovingly was more of a confession than he’d ever known he could want or need. And the way their bodies fit together…he knew Taekwoon was a virgin, but God, he was making it so hard to take things “slow,” with his intense stares and his broad, strong shoulders and the way he rolled his hips so sexily, Hakyeon thought he might actually die of want. He wanted him right now. He indulged his mind in a brief daydream what it might feel like to have Taekwoon buried deep inside him, rolling his hips like that, calling his name, then struggled to shake the haze off. Bad move. He made sure to adjust his hips far enough away that he wouldn’t be beating poor innocent Taekwoon with a blunt object.

“What time is it?” Hakyeon asked, trying to distract himself from his shame.

Taekwoon looked at the alarm clock on the table behind Hakyeon’s back. “10:36.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s late. I haven’t slept so well in years,” Hakyeon announced, pulling away just enough to stretch his back. It cracked in 4 places, leaving him feeling even more boneless. “I wish we could stay in bed all day, but I have to go to my dance class and rehearsal later. I’ve missed too much already. Probably just to watch, since I haven’t been cleared to dance yet. Do you want to take a shower while I make us some breakfast?”

Taekwoon nodded.

“There’s towels in the cupboard,” Hakyeon said, sitting up. “Oh, of course you already know that. You put them there. I’ll leave something out on the bed that should fit you. Some of my dance clothes are quite baggy, and you’re not that much bigger than me.”

Parting from the bed and his lover’s arms was a somewhat lonely feeling, but Hakyeon thought maybe he’d ask Taekwoon to come with him later tonight to rehearsal, to watch. Then, maybe he could talk him into spending the night again. The thought cheered him.

As Taekwoon slowly made his way into the bathroom, Hakyeon hummed to himself cheerfully, laying out a pair of his dance pants, some boxers, and a larger teeshirt that would hopefully accommodate the breadth of Taekwoon’s shoulders. He skipped his way into the kitchen and examined the contents of the fridge. He had eggs, so he thought that perhaps with the leftover rice from last night, he’d fry it with some kimchi and make omurice. He made the fried rice quickly, a recipe he was thoroughly familiar with, through years of trials and failures, and was about to start on the eggs when he realized he hadn’t thought about coffee or tea. He didn’t know Taekwoon’s preference.

He headed back down the hall. The bathroom door was open a little, so Taekwoon must be done with his shower.

“Hey, Taekwoon, did you want me to make coffee?” he asked, pushing the door open a bit more.

They both froze, staring at each other in disbelief. All of the color drained from Taekwoon’s face, but the dancer was looking past it.

 “Wings,” Hakyeon whispered. “I knew I saw wings. I wasn’t dreaming.”

His lover was standing, a towel held against his abdomen, barely concealing his modesty, and two large, folded wings were visible from over his shoulders down to his calves. And then, right before his eyes, they blinked away, instantly. Taekwoon’s face was blank and staring, and more frightened than Hakyeon had ever seen him.

“Turn around?” the dancer asked, cautiously.

“I—” Taekwoon stalled, looking panicked. Looking like he wanted to run.

“Please?”

Taekwoon breathed, his face crumpling, then rotated slowly, jaw clenched, tears forming in his eyes, and Hakyeon saw not just his bare butt and back, but what looked like strange scars, running from his oddly-shaped shoulder blades down to the center of his back. The flesh raised up like a wound, but without the jagged edges, not looking angry or malformed.

Hakyeon ran his warm palm over the plane of Taekwoon’s back, laid flat, from his side to his neck, and let his fingers play over the raised flesh. Taekwoon shuddered hard and pulled away.

“Can I see them?” Hakyeon whispered. “Will you show me?”

Taekwoon inhaled quickly, then let the breath out slowly, as though trying to calm his nerves.

“I can’t,” he said. Hakyeon was trying to think of what to say to change his mind when he continued reluctantly, “At least, not in here. The space is too small.”

Hakyeon backed out of the room instantly and headed into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed and waited for just a moment, shocked when Taekwoon entered, fully, stunningly, gorgeously nude, having abandoned the towel on the floor.

One moment, he looked like an ordinary man, albeit a strikingly beautiful one, and the next, he had the most magnificent pair of wings emerging from his body. He unfolded them carefully, trying not to hit any of the furniture, or Hakyeon himself. They were significantly larger than Hakyeon expected. They were a pale icy blue, and though they looked delicately feathered like a bird’s, they were less solid. Translucent. Like they were there, yet not. Otherworldly.

“Can I?” Hakyeon asked, already reaching out his hand.

Taekwoon squatted to the floor, hiding his face in his hands, but nodded. Hakyeon moved between the outstretched wings, closer to his back, pressed his palm to the topmost covert and stroked his hand down the entire length of the wing.

Taekwoon let out a low moan and his whole body shuddered again. The wings fluttered slightly on either side of Hakyeon’s body and he stepped back, feeling Taekwoon’s obvious discomfort.

“It’s real,” he whispered. “How can this be real?”

Taekwoon didn’t answer, but the wings disappeared again, and he reached for the pants sitting on the edge of the bed, drawing them up his long legs.

“Are you an angel?” Hakyeon asked, backing up to the bed until his knees hit the edge, knowing otherwise, they would just give out beneath him.

“Yes.”

“Are you my guardian angel?”

“Yes? Sort of. It’s complicated.”

 “I never even thought of myself as religious, but Oh. My. God,” Hakyeon muttered. “I mean, no offense,” he said, pointing his face skyward, as though speaking to the man himself. Hakyeon kept shaking his head and staring at his hand that had touched the angel-wing and it was tinging with energy. His whole body was tingling. He thought he might explode.

“I just, when I was in that alley and you appeared, it was like you came from the sky. One moment I was totally alone and Caleb was beating the shit out of me and I thought I was going to die, and then it’s like, you just descended from the sky. You came out of nowhere, and I thought I saw wings, and I thought I was dead and an angel had come for me but then it was you and you saved me, and then Hongbin just told me I had a head injury. But wait, is Wonshik a—"

 “I have to go,” Taekwoon interrupted. Hakyeon jerked up. Taekwoon still had a look of deep panic on his face and both of his hands were trembling so hard, he was having trouble pulling down the hem of the teeshirt.

“But Taekwoon, you can’t just leave now. How could you leave?”

Hakyeon stood, reaching for Taekwoon, who took a step back for every step Hakyeon took forward.

“No, I’m sorry. I just, I have to go,” he quivered as though he were begging, rather than informing Hakyeon of his intents. Hakyeon shook his head firmly.

“No, you need to stay here because I have questions. Please? Don’t go. You said one day you were going to tell me the truth, and--”

There was no point to continue talking. Taekwoon was gone.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are a messy business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me if it feels like filler, there's not a lot of action happening, but things had to be set in place as we're heading into something big!

Taekwoon reappeared instantly in his own apartment, tossing the veil shut behind him. Wonshik had apparently gone out, because he was quite alone. He stared around the space. Everything was in order, of course. It was like a picture: well-decorated, attractive, warm. It felt like Wonshik. But it didn’t feel like home, not the way Hakyeon’s apartment did, with its floral candles and soft blankets and softer Hakyeon...

His pocket buzzed and Taekwoon swallowed hard, withdrawing it and glancing at the screen. Three missed calls. Six new text messages. They were visible on the lock screen.

> << Taekwoonie, please come back
> 
> << You don’t have to be scared. I just want to talk.
> 
> << I won’t ask about them again if it makes you that uncomfortable
> 
> << Please, Taekwoon, you’re scaring me
> 
> << You said you wouldn’t leave me

The phone buzzed again and Taekwoon dropped it onto the sofa cushion in surprise.

> << Please call me

Seven text messages.

He muttered a curse. What was he going to do? It was another one of those rare moments where he actually wished Wonshik was there to tell him what to do. Except. Oh God. Wonshik was going to _kill_ him.

Taekwoon began pacing. His bare feet squeaked on the hardwood each time he stepped off the living room rug and by the time he heard the beeping sounds of the code being entered on the keypad, probably about twenty minutes later, there was a deep rut worn in the high pile of the carpet.

Wonshik was going to be so mad.

He fled to his bedroom, flinging the bedroom door shut, just a moment too late, so it hit the latch hard at the very moment the front door opened.

“Taekwoon?” Wonshik called.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Taekwoon dropped down onto the bed, his anxiety causing his whole body to shake. He wrapped his wings around his torso in an attempt to soothe himself, but just the sight of them seemed to make things worse, a visible reminder of why he was in this state to begin with. He pulled his knees to his chest and rocked, hiding in his feathered cocoon.

Wonshik rapped on his door.

“Taekwoon?”

He wanted to tell him to go away, but he couldn’t seem to make his voice work. It was like being a mute Watcher all over again: all of the activity happening around him, and no way to react to it without potentially making things worse. He was going to upset both of the people he cared for most, all in one morning.

The bedroom door opened. Wonshik would have been able to sense his presence. He knew he was there. He could probably also feel his anxiety. In fact, that was likely why he’d come home in the first place. Taekwoon wished he could just hide in a hole somewhere and disappear.

“Taekwoon, what’s wrong?” The Malakhim asked, sitting down beside him and pulling him against his body. Taekwoon just continued rocking, his wings wrapped tight around him. Wonshik wrapped his own wings around them both in a protective gesture and tried to lift Taekwoon’s chin.

“Dear one, tell me what’s happened.” Wonshik’s voice was soothing but also demanding. He was obviously ready to run out and fight Taekwoon’s battles for him, but he wasn’t going to be able to fix this.

“I messed up,” Taekwoon whispered.

“How did you mess up? Did something happen with Hakyeon?”

“Yes,” Taekwoon said. “Well, kind of…”

Wonshik sighed, probably thinking it was some kind of lovers’ quarrel.

“Taekwoon,” he said, stroking the other angel’s white hair. It was overlong and hanging in his face. “I’ll give you the best relationship advice I have. It sucks, but it works in any situation. Whether you were right or wrong, even if you don’t know what you did, just apologize.”

“No, it’s not that…I--”

Taekwoon stiffened. He could feel Hakyeon. And in the split second that the thought registered, there was a knock at the door. Sweet Hakyeon had walked all the way to Taekwoon’s apartment when he wouldn’t answer the phone.

“It’s him. I feel him. He’s here. Make him go away,” Taekwoon begged, the guilt overwhelming him.

“You’re acting like an idiot,” Wonshik said, rolling his eyes, but blinked his wings away and obligingly headed off to the front door. He was such a good friend.

Taekwoon could hear everything from his hiding place. He felt like a fool and a coward for hiding.

The door opened.

“Oh, Wonshik.” Hakyeon’s voice quavered in an odd way. “Is…is he home?”

“I thought hyung was with you last night?” came Wonshik’s reply. He was a very good actor.

“He was, but he left…very abruptly, and I was worried. He hasn’t been home?”

“Ahh, he probably just had some errand or something he forgot about. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

There was a brief silence.

“Do you want me to let him know you dropped by?” Wonshik prompted. Taekwoon could imagine them awkwardly staring at each other. Hakyeon suspecting that he knew what Wonshik _really_ was, and Wonshik thinking that the two of them had had some sort of a fight. He suddenly wondered if Hakyeon could feel his presence, even half as strongly as Taekwoon could feel his.

“Yes, please…Have…have him call me as soon as he gets in? It’s…important.”

“Are you alright, Hakyeon?”

Drat. Wonshik was getting worried. He was too much of a meddler when he thought something was really wrong. He’d better not let The Dancer inside. Please go away, Hakyeon. Please, please, please…

“I’m alright. I just need him to know that everything is okay. That I…I like him just the way he is.”

He _definitely_ knew that Taekwoon was there. He was speaking louder than was really necessary, considering Wonshik was right in front of him.

“Did you guys have an argument?”

Dang it, Wonshik, stop asking questions.

“Not an argument,” Hakyeon stalled. “Just…there’s something we need to talk about and he’s apparently not ready to talk about it. I can wait. So, just have him call me, or at least text me, to let me know he’s okay?”

“I’ll do that.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

“Bye.”

The door closed and Wonshik was back in his bedroom. And he looked furious.

“You owe me an explanation.” Wonshik’s glare could have peeled the paint straight off the walls. “Why and how does Hakyeon know what we are?”

Taekwoon blanched. There was nothing in the conversation that would have insinuated that he knew anything, so that meant…

“You touched him!” Taekwoon burst out.

“I patted his arm. You weren’t telling me the truth and he was looking at me like he was suddenly terrified of me.”

“You can’t just go touching my human without my permission.”

“ _You_ can’t just go whipping your wings out anywhere you please!”

Taekwoon placed his hand defensively on his wing. “I was showering. He walked in on me.”

“But, you shouldn’t have had them out in the first place!”

“I’m still not used to being seen, okay? I was completely invisible to everyone but you and Jaehwan for two thousand years!”

“That’s not an excuse, Taekwoon. I’ve told you over and over how careful you need to be and it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall for all the attention you’ve paid me!”

“I’ve paid attention. I just don’t know what the fuck I’m doing!” Taekwoon shouted, as best he could in his delicate voice.

Wonshik looked as though he were about to gear up for another lecture that Taekwoon just couldn’t take. He grabbed the front of Wonshik’s shirt and dragged him close, pressing his face into his shoulder and embracing him with his wings.

“I’m scared,” he said, his voice muffled from being pressed against Wonshik’s hoodie. The other angel softened, as Taekwoon knew he would.

“Of what?”

“Literally everything,” Taekwoon laughed while simultaneously choking on a sob. “But right now, of you, and your opinion. Of what’s going to happen now. Of how I’ve fucked everything up. Aren’t humans not supposed to know about their Guardian? Am I in trouble? You’ve had to hide it all these years. You’re so good at it. I’m screwing everything up and it’s barely been a week!”

“This is my fault. I’m so sorry, Taekwoon.”

That wasn’t what Taekwoon had expected to hear. He looked up just in time for Wonshik’s arms to wrap back around him, drawing him close. The Malakhim pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“You shouldn’t ever have to be scared of me. My opinion of you isn’t going to change, nor is my love for you. You should be able to ask me questions or come to me if you feel you’ve made a mistake. I haven’t been a very good teacher and I’ve spent too much of this time away from you. Some of it was necessary, but the rest was mostly selfish. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I am, but it’s at myself mostly. If I had been better to you, this may not have happened.” He rocked Taekwoon gently. “At least it appears that Hakyeon handled the news well. Hopefully, he’ll agree not to speak of it to anyone.”

“But I revealed what I am. He suspects that you’re the same.”

“I’m aware. But Taekwoon, do you really think you’re the first celestial to show yourself to a human?”

“What?”

“Honestly, you foolish thing...” Wonshik kissed him again the way he would a child. “How do you think that artists across the centuries have known what we look like? You are not the first to take a lover, nor are you the first to reveal your true self to a mortal. And judging from what you said, it was not your Intent. You cannot be faulted for it.”

Taekwoon drank in Wonshik’s words like they held healing elixir, though his brain felt clouded with disbelief.

“But you’ve been so strict about how I need to behave. Why are you not mad at me?”

“Of course, I have. There’s a very distinct line we cannot breach, and the farther you stay from it, the better. Taekwoon, The Seer himself has said that you must be careful, that you are already too close for comfort. And the more intimate you get with this human, the closer you are to crossing that line. I don’t like it. If it were up to me, I’d ask you not to see him, but I know that there’s nothing I can do to stop you at this point. You love him. I know that. I just want you to be aware of all that entails. And maybe it’s better that he knows. Maybe once Hakyeon understands the implications as well, it will help the two of you from crossing that line.” Taekwoon scowled.

“I won’t allow you to fall,” Wonshik whispered. “I can’t.”

“But what do I do now?”

“You heard Hakyeon. He said he was willing to wait until you were ready to talk about it. Do what you need to do until then. I wouldn’t make him wait too long, though. Humans aren’t exactly known for their patience. Just send him a text, apologize for walking out, and say that you need a little bit of time. He may not like it, but he’ll be less upset than if you ignore him.” Wonshik hummed to himself thoughtfully. “And when you see him again, bring flowers.”

“Again?” Taekwoon whined.

“Humans like flowers,” Wonshik insisted.

Taekwoon sighed, making a mental note of everything Wonshik had said. He withdrew his phone from his pocket.

“What time is it?” Wonshik asked.

“Time for you to go get your own phone,” Taekwoon grumbled. Wonshik waited. “11:52.”

“Okay. You text your human. I’ve got some stuff to do.”

“Stuff? What stuff?”

“Personal stuff.”

“I thought you weren’t going to leave me alone as much,” Taekwoon pouted.

Wonshik pinched his lower lip, winked, and walked out the door.

“Text Hakyeon,” he shouted from across the house.

Taekwoon sighed, staring at his phone for several minutes. He lay down on the bed and set it next to him. He looked at it some more. Then he flipped it over and stared at the mysterious egg that he still hadn’t managed to identify.

He could smell Hakyeon on the clothes he was wearing. He raised the neckline of the shirt over the lower half of his face and inhaled: laundry soap, a faint whisper of the candle fragrances, and the combined scents of their bodies, both Taekwoon’s and Hakyeon’s, a scent so forbidden it shouldn’t even exist. It hurt. Oh, it hurt so much.

Finally, he picked up the phone and wrote:

> >> I’m sorry, Hakyeon

He didn’t know what else to say and his vision was inexplicably blurry all of a sudden, so eventually, he just hit send. He closed his eyes, but right away, there was a buzz from the return message.

> << Are you okay?
> 
> >> Yes
> 
> << I meant it. I like you. Come back to me.
> 
> << When you’re ready.

Taekwoon sighed again.

> >> Why are you being so nice? Aren’t you mad at me?
> 
> << How can I be mad when I can feel how scared you are?
> 
> >> You can feel me?

There was a pause. Taekwoon’s anxiety spiked as he waited for the reply, and when it finally came, he wanted to cry.

> << I feel everything.

Oh, Hakyeon…

> >> Where are you?
> 
> << Outside. I am leaving to go to dance practice.

Taekwoon was right. Hakyeon had known he was there the whole time.

> >> Please don’t be angry with Wonshik. I begged him to say I wasn’t here. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.
> 
> << I told you I’m not mad. I’m going to call you. Will you answer the phone? You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.

About thirty seconds later, the phone rang. Taekwoon fumbled it a bit, squeezed his eyes shut, and hit the accept button on the screen. Hakyeon didn’t say anything at first, but Taekwoon could hear the sounds from outside. The cars moving on the street, the murmur of the crowd, the wind whistling past the mouthpiece on the device. The sounds of humanity.

Hakyeon took a breath, near the handset, and softly, began to sing.

> _Just too unreal, all this_  
>  Watching his world slip though my fist  
>  Playing with him in your fantasies  
>  Haven't you heard a word, how I want you?
> 
> _Oh, I'm gonna be wounded_  
>  Oh, I'm gonna be your wound  
>  Oh, I'm gonna bruise you  
>  Oh, you're gonna be my bruise

He recognized the song. It was from Hakyeon’s musical. The doomed lovers, Malchior and Wendla, sang it as a duet, as she falls for him.

He didn’t want to be another bruise for Hakyeon. He could feel the tears beginning to flow in earnest.

He heard the sound as Hakyeon kissed the microphone on the phone, then it disconnected.

He shouldn’t do it. He knew it was just going to hurt him if he did, but he sat up on his bed and looked out the blinds down at the street below. Hakyeon was in a black peacoat with a bag slung over his shoulder. And he was wearing Taekwoon’s knit hat, the one he had placed upon him at the park. It seemed even sweeter that they were wearing each other’s clothes. His heart squeezed. Without another thought, he threw the window open and jumped.

\---

Hakyeon didn’t know how he knew that Taekwoon was there, but he knew. He could feel it in his blood, the energy coursing through him. And as he entered the dance studio, laced his shoes and began his solo warm ups, gently opening up the joints of his spine, his neck and shoulders, his hips and knees and ankles, he looked up through the wide industrial window to see Taekwoon, sitting on a window ledge across the street, close enough that he’d be able to see Hakyeon just as clearly through the glass. It was the same window ledge he’d been standing on when Hakyeon thought he was going to jump. Had he been watching him that day, too?

He somehow knew that Taekwoon would not be entirely pleased if he knew Hakyeon was aware of his presence, so he tried to focus his gaze up at the sky, at the architecture of the building, at the afternoon light that played and glinted on the tinted glass. But it both thrilled and comforted him to know that Taekwoon was watching him dance. It was a shame he couldn’t show off today. The doctor had agreed that he could definitely watch, participate in warmups and slow activity, but wasn’t allowed to dance full-out quite yet. Stupid head injury.

As they entered, Hakyeon was greeted enthusiastically and fussed over by his classmates, which he enjoyed immensely. He basked in the attention, doling out wide smiles to everyone, thrilled to be back. But as the instructor called the class to the barre warmups, Hakyeon frowned. Where was Hongbin? He’d never missed a class before and he hadn’t texted Hakyeon to let him know he’d be late. Of course, he hadn’t known that Hakyeon was going to be coming today, either.

As he moved from dégagé front, to side, to back, and as he stretched backward, lengthening his spine, he felt a jolt of guilt. He’d been so preoccupied with Taekwoon lately, he’d been neglecting his friend. He internally vowed to make it up to him as he moved into a full plié in second, relishing the stretch.

As the class went into their choreography, he followed as best he could, with small, delicate gestures throughout the lesson. He focused on perfection in every muscle, every stretch, instead, and received a little thrill when he raised his arms fully over his head with no pain – no pain! – from the shoulder that had been dislocated and bruised. Only a short time away from Caleb and he felt renewed.

It was frustrating to be limited, but it felt good to dance again, even if only at quarter-capacity, and he was glowing with happiness as he left the studio, with the warmth of the embraces of his fellow dancers, and dancing with joy, and knowing that his angel’s eyes were watching him. He emerged onto the street to see Hongbin sitting at the café table next door, waiting for him. He smiled a wide, dimpled smile, and held up two paper cups. Hakyeon ran to him and Hongbin handed him a cup.

“Green tea soy latte with a scoop of matcha,” he announced, grabbing the strap of Hakyeon’s duffle bag and pulling it from the dancer’s shoulder, to slip it up onto his own.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Hakyeon protested. “I’m not an invalid.”

“It’s your first day back. Don’t push yourself,” his friend replied, starting to walk.

“Why didn’t you come to class?” Hakyeon asked, accepting his face as they began the familiar trek toward the subway station. He sipped his drink. “And why soy?”

He squicked his tongue around in his mouth at the unfamiliar flavor.

“Soy so you can sing tonight. You don’t want to be choking on phlegm.” Hakyeon made a face. “And I spoke with the school. I’m not continuing ballet.”

“Why?”

Hongbin poked at the crease between Hakyeon’s eyes as he frowned. It reminded him to carefully smooth out his expression so as to avoid wrinkles.

“I’m not cut out for it.” When Hakyeon opened his mouth to argue, he added, “It makes me unhappy.”

Oh. That he couldn’t argue with.

“I was talking to Wonshik last night,” Hongbin said with a bit of a blush, “and he just kind of made me realize how short life is. I shouldn’t waste my time on something that made me so miserable. Or someone. No matter how much I...” he faded out and scuffed a shoe against the curb.

“You mean Ken?” Hakyeon asked gently.

“Yeah. I like him, Yeonnie. I mean, I really like him. But if he’s going to just continue to shut me out like he has been, he’s obviously not looking for the same thing I am.”

They headed down into the subway and pushed into the train. It was crowded with the usual afternoon commuters, and they didn’t talk much again until they’d reached the theatre.

Hongbin wandered off to fill his water bottle as Hakyeon was once again petted and embraced by his castmates and made to tell the story again and again of how he “fell down the stairs” and obtained his head injury. He claimed to not remember much, just to make the lie easier.  

He took a seat in the fourth row of the auditorium, next to the director, Jinwoo.

“You’re really okay?” the elder man asked. He knew the truth, so Hakyeon felt okay about displaying a bit of his vulnerability around such a kind and understanding hyung.

“I’m okay. More than okay, really. It’s better now that I’m away.”

“Are you feeling up to being here?”

“Of course. I’m ready. The doctor has given me clearance to start dancing again tomorrow, so maybe tonight I can just sing?”

As they spoke, Ken had approached slowly, then lingered, trying not to eavesdrop.

“Hyung?” he asked. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“What’s up?” Jinwoo asked.

“I was just wonder what role I’m playing tonight, since Hakyeon is back?”

“We were just discussing that. Hakyeon feels fit, but since we did some blocking without him, I think it might be better if you played Malchio and he observed and took notes on the blocking changes and new scenes. Perhaps the two of you can go over the notes together before he gets back onstage tomorrow?”

“Sounds good, thanks hyung.”

He smiled at Hakyeon, too. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Hakyeon tried to smile in return, but he knew it was half-hearted, and so did Ken, judging by the expression on his face. He didn’t dislike Ken, but he didn’t approve of the way he had hurt Hongbin. Not to mention, he suspected that the blond probably wasn’t really happy to surrender the lead role. Hakyeon certainly wouldn’t have been.

He sang along as the cast did their usual vocal warmups and stretches and watched in fascination as the cast began their scene work. Everyone had improved so much in only a few short days, and most were off-book already! It made Hakyeon feel lacking and he told himself he’d practice his lines as much as he could before tomorrow.

It was only about ten minutes later, in the middle of _Don’t Do Sadness_ that Taekwoon arrived. Hakyeon could feel him instantly and his whole body relaxed as though a string had been pulled, releasing tension. He resisted the urge to turn around, to stare, as Jinwoo stood to give Hyungwon direction and wandered up toward the stage, gesturing wildly for him to move stage right before Ilsa’s entrance. The very fact that nobody had turned to look at an opening door, none of the actors had blinked at a new arrival in the audience meant that no one knew but him.

He’d suspected as much. Since the day he’d begun to think Taekwoon was something more, something not entirely normal…something not entirely human, he’d wondered why he had been able to see the man with the white hair on the window ledge, and no one else seemed to see anything at all. At first, he’d thought himself crazy. He still felt crazy at times, but at least the moment he saw Taekwoon’s wings, things sort of fell into place. He’d seen everything he believed he saw. He hadn’t been imagining things after all.

Taekwoon _had_ been on that window ledge. He _had_ come from the sky the day he saved Hakyeon. Those little uncanny way he’d always shown up just when he was needed most, the way he seemed to be able to read Hakyeon like an open book, the fact that he looked like _that_ and somehow had never been kissed…he was an angel.

He was an _angel_ , and fuck, Hakyeon wouldn’t be able to tell anyone, ever, because they would think he’d lost it completely.

> _Spring and summer, every other day_ …

He was momentarily distracted by Seulgi’s beautiful voice, but then went back to his musing, still trying not to look behind him, feeling Taekwoon’s eyes on him.

Hongbin slid into the seat next to him. A few other cast members were resting in the velvet seats of the auditorium as well. A script was suddenly thrust into his hands and he looked up at his friend’s big brown eyes.

“You’re behind. Keep daydreaming and they’ll give your part to Ken,” he whispered.

“Dream on. I’m irreplaceable.” Hakyeon said back, with a sniff.

The scene continued until Seulgi’s heartbreaking line, “You know, by the time you finally wake up, I'll be lying on some trash heap,” and Jinwoo called for a break.

“Alright everyone, take five. Then we’ll start on page 41 with Moritz’s entrance.”

Hakyeon swiveled in his seat, his knees knocking against Hongbin’s. They chatted about the scene for a moment, until Hakyeon remembered something interesting. Very interesting.

“So, Wonshik. You were talking to him last night, hmm?”

Hongbin immediately went red.

“What aren’t you telling me, Beanie?” He fluttered his eyelashes at him.

“Nothing. We’re friends.” It was a pitiful attempt at deflection.

“I wasn’t aware you knew him that well.”

“I mean, I don’t, really, but…”

“But?”

“But nothing. We don’t really know each other that well,” Hongbin said stubbornly, starting to stand.

“He’s handsome,” Hakyeon remarked. “And I’ve seen him shirtless, you know. Yum.”

Hongbin dropped back down in his seat.

“What? How? You’re going to tell me _everything_. Now.”

“You first,” Hakyeon said, with a wicked gleam.

“Places in one!” the stage manager called.

“Thank you, one,” the cast chanted back in unison.

“You first. Fast.” Hakyeon repeated.

“Ugh. Jesus. Fuck. Alright.” Hongbin muttered, and continued quickly. “We ran into each other at the park the other day and he…he asked me to dinner.”

“A date?” he shrieked. “You went on a date with…with Wonshik??” he dropped his voice to a whisper, but the acoustics in the auditorium were amazing. Several of their castmates looked over in interest. There was a pause. “Aaaaaand?”

“Places!” Jinwoo announced, and Hongbin shuffled off irritably.

In the row ahead, about eight seats to the right, Ken had spun around in his seat and was now staring at Hakyeon, stricken. But then, he wasn’t looking at Hakyeon; he was looking past him. Hakyeon couldn’t help following his gaze to the back of the aud, and there was Taekwoon, just as he had thought. But Taekwoon wasn’t looking at Hakyeon. He was looking at Ken, and as the two of them communicated silently, their faces both took on matching expressions of unrest. Ken looked…angry?

Hakyeon looked around. The other actors were just getting back into the scene, and no one else had noticed Taekwoon at all. No one but Ken. What was Ken to Taekwoon, then? What the hell was going on?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hongbin is caught between two angels. Ken tries to stake his claim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked for it…you begged for it (well, a few of you did)… and now, The Watcher presents: The D. 
> 
> WARNING: Seriously, this chapter is like 85% smut.   
> …And I won’t apologize for what I’ve done.
> 
> So now I’m off to Chicago for the weekend to see Monsta X and check out the Taste of Korea festival! Anyone else going to be there? HMU on Twitter @lascifvixx and I’ll get you my contact info.

Hongbin wanted to beat his head against the wall. Cha Loudmouth just had to spill the beans right in front of Ken, didn’t he? It was just so stereotypically Hakyeon…

Hongbin had risen from his place in the seats and marched back to the stage. He hadn’t missed the wounded look on Ken’s face as he made his way back up the steps and onto the apron, but what did the man really expect? He’d happily blown Hongbin once, then had happily blown him off, and had been blatantly ignoring and avoiding him ever since. So what, Ken says he’s messed up, Hongbin thought savagely; he’s got one thing right at least. Because needing patience and understanding is one thing, but outright disrespect is something else entirely.

He leaned over and glanced down from his spot under the unflattering white work lights onstage as Hyunwoo and Kihyun began their dialogue. Below, Ken seemed to be having a staring match with Hakyeon from their respective seats. Good. At least he knew Hakyeon would give Ken an earful if he tried to make any kind of comment. That was the sole perk of your best friend being an insufferable know-it-all. Once he picked a target, he wouldn’t stop talking until physically forced, or the victim ran away screaming or apologizing at the top of their lungs.

Seriously, what did Ken care anyway if Hongbin went on a date? It hadn’t really even been a date, at least, not officially. Even if it had felt like one. And he didn’t know if he had any feelings for Wonshik at all. He really hadn’t taken the time to think about it. Did he? He couldn’t possibly – it was too soon. He liked Wonshik in a way that was, perhaps, more than friendly. He found him attractive…he had this unconventional beauty that Hongbin found kind of irresistible. When they were together, it was hard to take his eyes off him. And he made him feel good. When Hongbin was with Wonshik, he felt warm. He felt safe, in a way he hadn’t really felt with anyone else. Even the night they met, when Hongbin was about to face down Caleb, he knew that nothing was going to happen to him while Wonshik was there. It gave him courage.

His feelings for Ken, well, maybe it was too soon for those, too. At this point, they were probably best described as ‘tumultuous.’ He was adorable. He was beautiful. He was so annoying he wanted to wring his neck half the time and cuddle him until he squeaked the remaining half. He didn’t know for sure if he was falling for Ken, but he knew he was infatuated with him. He _wanted_ Ken. Ohh, did he want him. Even now, stressed, confused, and mad as hell, he wanted to grab that stupid blond hair and yank his head back, and…

“Hongbin, that’s you.”

“What?” he blinked.

“You missed your cue,” Hyunwoo said. “We’re at “For joy. For pure and certain joy!” And you say “Cross your heart?”

Hongbin shook his head. He must be going crazy. “I’m so sorry. Can we do it again?” he asked

“Start from “So, did you get caught,” Jinwoo said. The scene resumed with the boys welcoming a running, panicked Moritz.

“So, did you get caught?” Hyunwoo asked.

 “No-no-thank God­” stammered Hyungwon, gasping for breath.

Kihyun interjected, “But, you're trembling,”

 “For joy. For pure and certain joy!” exclaimed Hyungwon, practically dancing.

“Cross your heart?” Hongbin said, a sarcastic grin on his face.

The scene went on, then concluded, Hongbin exited stage left, and promptly pulled his hair in frustration, slumping against the brick wall of the scene shop, which jutted out from the stage wing. The anger felt good. It at least provided an outlet for the swirling vortex of his thoughts. He hit the wall with the meaty side of a balled-up fist. Even infuriated, he knew he’d regret it later if he skinned his knuckles.

Suddenly, he wanted to laugh. Everything was just so fucking absurd. Where had these annoyances even come from? It seemed like one minute he and Kyunghee had just broken up and he was just getting his heart patched back together, and suddenly he was wracking his brains and suffering over two different men.

 …Beautiful ones.

Wonshik and Ken were like yin and yang. Light and dark. Fire and ice. Two sides of the same coin. And when he let his mind make its way to the vile, selfish truth, he wanted them both. They were enigmatic and magnetic, each in their own ways. Wonshik gave off the impression of being a hardass, yet gave Hongbin these gentle flutters in his stomach that gave him the urge to drop soft kisses to his sweet, small mouth and caress the long lines of his body. Ken was cute and charismatic but gave Hongbin powerful electric shocks that made him desire nothing more than to drop to his knees and beg for him.

And now, even with these conflicting emotions, confusing thoughts, these stupid _feelings_ , he had no idea which he could possibly choose – if either of them even wanted _him_ at all.

“Alright, everybody, take ten. We’ll start with _Mama Who Bore Me_ when we get back,” the stage manager bellowed from below.

“Thank you, ten,” the cast chanted, then immediately scattered. Hongbin wandered over to his bag, tossed on a seat in the front row, and pulled out his water bottle, plopping down on the next open chair and up-ending it. He was parched. He took several deep swallows, but lowered it when he felt a presence nearby. Looking up, Ken was standing two rows back, and giving him a weak smile.

“Hey Hongbin,” Ken’s voice was tentative, nervous. “Do you have a minute?”

Hongbin felt equally reluctant. After an entire week, _now_ he wanted to talk? What did Hakyeon say to him? Resisting both the urge to sigh and roll his eyes skyward, and to glare bloody murder at Hakyeon, he stood back up.

“Of course,” he replied, smiling as best he could. Ken looked relieved, like he’d thought Hongbin would hit him, or yell at him, or something. They met at the end of the row, and Ken took his hand, pulling him toward the red EXIT sign. They would have a few extra minutes since they’d be starting with one of the girls’ ensemble songs when rehearsal reconvened.

He followed Ken out of the stage door to the alleyway outside. When they opened the door, a blast of cold air hit them and Hongbin felt like it was going straight through his long-sleeved teeshirt.

The door shut behind him with a click and he was alone with Ken again.

“It’s cold out,” he whined.

“I promise I won’t take too long. Would you like my jacket?”

“No, it’s fine,” he grumbled.

Ken shuffled his feet, moving into a position where he was blocking most of the wind from Hongbin. It made his blond hair blow across his forehead and he squinted where it poked at his eyes.

 “I’ve…been so unfair to you,” Ken said. “You didn’t deserve it.”

Hongbin blinked, surprised.

“There are so many things I want to tell you,” Ken murmured, moving closer, his leather jacket brushing Hongbin’s chest. “And I’ve spent too much time imagining how I would say them, trying to think of how I could make you understand, so I’ve been putting off the actual conversations for far too long. Now I feel like I’m losing you.”

He was encroaching in Hongbin’s space, lingering so that their bodies were close enough to feel the electricity between, but not to actually touch. Losing him? Had he ever had him in the first place? Hongbin felt himself weaken. He wanted to close that distance.

Ken slipped his hand around Hongbin’s waist and drew him closer. He was so warm. Hongbin could see every flawless detail of Ken’s beautiful face. In the golden light of the streetlamp, he looked almost angelic.

Dammit, yes…yes, he had him.

“I really like you, Hongbin,” he murmured, leaning into his throat. Hongbin’s breath caught, involuntarily, as Ken’s lips brushed against his skin. “I don’t deserve it, but I hope you’ll consider giving me another chance.”

Ken’s hand crept up Hongbin’s back, fisting his teeshirt. He pulled back until they were looking into each other’s eyes. Then they were kissing. It was even better than Hongbin had remembered. Ken’s plush lips were positively sinful, and it was only seconds before he was completely lost in the sensation and found himself being pressed back against the door by the full length of Ken’s body.

It was a bad idea. It was definitely a bad idea to let this happen when he’d felt so hurt by Ken’s abandonment all week long. Not to mention they could get busted at any moment by any member of the cast or crew. Hongbin couldn’t even think. His brain was fuzzy. What had he thought about Ken earlier? Feelings? No feelings? But oh, it just felt so good to taste him again, he couldn’t even bring himself to care anymore. Fuck it. Really, fuck it. If this was all he could ever get from Ken, he’d take it. As good as this fire felt, he’d let himself burn in it.

Ken licked into his mouth with a single-minded determination and as Ken’s thigh found its way between Hongbin’s legs, putting friction against his groin, the needful sounds that emerged from his throat grew louder. How could one person have this effect on him? He moaned low, pressing into Ken’s thigh, already half-hard.

He reached up to grab the locks of blond hair, just as he’d imagined, and yanked Ken’s head back. The other man whined loudly, the sound filthy, echoing in the empty alleyway as Hongbin began to kiss and suck at his neck.

“Yes. Oh, god!” Ken whispered up to the sky as Hongbin’s mouth dropped lower; then, pulling away, their lust-blown eyes met for just a brief moment, before Hongbin grabbed Ken’s waist and flipped their positions, shoving Ken up against the door instead.

Ken’s head hit the aluminum with a painful-sounding clunk, but he didn’t react, or even seem to care, clutching at the back of Hongbin’s teeshirt and crying out as the taller man sucked a red mark into the crook of his neck.

“Please,” Ken gasped. “Please just kiss me.”

Their mouths reconnected in a frenzy, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Hongbin thought that there was no way they were going to be able to hide their wild eyes and swollen lips when they returned to rehearsal. He didn’t give a single fuck.

Continuing to kiss as though he needed the breath from Hongbin’s lungs to live, Ken grabbed his wrists, and pulled them behind his back, holding them firmly in one hand, retaking control. His grip was unbreakable and Hongbin whimpered. Ken manhandled him so that Hongbin was once again pressed to the wall, this time with his front to the metal.

Ken let go of his hands and growled, “Brace yourself,” into his ear.

Hearing a wet noise from behind his back, goosebumps raised up all over Hongbin’s body, and he obeyed, resting his forearms against the cold metal surface and pressing his weight to them, as Ken trailed the fingertips of one slender hand down the slope of Hongbin’s abs and down past the elastic waist of his track pants, into his boxers. Gripping him firmly, Ken began to pump Hongbin’s cock, slicked with spit and the precum beading up from his slit.

Hongbin gasped when Ken rutted up against his ass. He could feel Ken, fully hard, through the fabric of their clothes, pushing against him, nestled in the cleft of his ass, rubbing close to where he wanted it, but not quite there, not close enough to satisfy, but close enough that the tease, the promise of it, was more than enough to make him cry out in a kind of desperate hunger. Ken was big, bigger than Hongbin, and he wanted him inside. He wanted Ken to fuck him right there. Right now.

“Please,” Hongbin begged, trying to reach back for him.

“You keep your hands on the door, where I can see them,” the other man murmured into Hongbin’s ear, nipping his earlobe. “You’ll get what I give you.”

Hongbin felt like he could cry, he was so hopelessly turned on. It was like Ken knew exactly what was going to break him down the most. He fucked up into the other man’s fist as best he could, given Ken’s iron grip on his hip. Ken, judging by his gasping breaths and the way he was losing his hard rhythm, seemed to be getting close, and just the thought of Ken coming, using his body for his own pleasure, was enough to send Hongbin over the edge. With a throaty cry, he came, hard, into Ken’s waiting fist. He’d cupped it as best he could, to minimize the mess, and Hongbin collapsed against his forearms as Ken stuttered through his own orgasm. At least Hongbin wasn’t cold anymore.

\---

Two hours later, they were back in Hongbin’s bedroom, and Jaehwan was sprawled comfortably between Hongbin’s pale thighs. The human was naked, gloriously beautiful and naked, and was writhing and panting in a way that nearly drove Jaehwan insane.  

He’d slung the boy’s knees haphazardly over his shoulders and his full lips glided slickly over his cock. He knew how amazing he looked like this and every time Hongbin dared to glance down, Jaehwan made sure to put on a show: full eye contact as he stretched his lips over Hongbin’s girth and took him down to the base. It never failed to make the human lose his mind completely and his hips bucked helplessly, straining for the tightness of his throat as his head fell back once again and he clutched at the pillow or the sheets with straining, shaking hands.

And he looked like Henry. Oh God, he looked like Henry, the way Henry looked when the angel had first met him: an American soldier, stationed in France, tall and brave and handsome and only twenty years old. They’d each been out drinking, celebrating the liberation of Paris, high on laughter, drunk on the taste of freedom and life, and the man had pressed his lips to his with a hot and heavy fervor. It was unexpected. It was shocking. It was intoxicating. And when the human had led him to his room, to his bed, he’d followed without question, without a second thought for his life, for his lover, for the consequences and the fallout. And God, the look in Wonshik’s eyes would haunt him forever, but…

“Ken…Ken, I’m…”

“Fuck,” The Power moaned against the head of Hongbin’s cock. “Come. Come for me.”

He plunged back down, sucking hard so that his cheeks hollowed, and Hongbin cried out, his whole body spasming as he came for the second time that night, hot jets of come spurting into the angel’s throat. He drank it all, closing his eyes to keep the tears from spilling. As the human panted, trying to catch his breath, Jaehwan slid back up Hongbin’s body. It was Hongbin, not Henry. It was Hongbin lying here, so beautiful, so vulnerable. He began to kiss lightly at the boy’s sternum, twirling his talented tongue over one nipple, then the other. Hongbin gasped. Ken hummed.

“You’re sensitive now, love.”

Hongbin finally turned his head to meet Jaehwan’s eyes. Jaehwan smiled, sliding his hand back down between Hongbin’s legs. The boy’s whole body jerked when his fingers brushed against his cock.

“Can’t,” he whined, pushing Jaehwan’s hand away. “It hurts.”

“I’ll make it feel good,” the angel whispered.

He let his hand move lower, cupping Hongbin’s testicles, caressing the globes gently as he panted, then even lower, over his perineum.

“Oh God, oh God,” the boy cried out, his spine arching so forcefully it looked almost painful. He fell back to the pillows again

“No, just me,” Jaehwan teased, licking at Hongbin’s earlobe, sure to let his breath play over the sensitive skin. He kept his fingers moving, just enough, letting Hongbin recover somewhat, while still keeping him on edge, trying to bring him back.

“You know what I want, baby? I want—” Jaehwan’s voice cut off by a loud buzzing sound. Both of them stopped moving and looked instinctively to the cell phone on Hongbin’s nightstand as its strong vibrations caused it to skitter across the surface. A candid photograph had illuminated the screen, of Wonshik at the ramyeon restaurant. He was laughing. It was accompanied by the nickname “Wonshikkie.”

“Don’t answer it,” Jaehwan said, unnecessarily. As if the human would; with as flushed and flustered as he was, there was no way he’d be able to hold a conversation. Hongbin reached out with one shaking hand, silencing the vibrating notification and turning the phone over so they could no longer see Wonshik’s smiling face.

God, his sweet, dear Wonshik…

Jaehwan had somewhat expected the rush of jealousy, but he suddenly wasn’t sure who he was jealous of. Wonshik for wanting Hongbin, or Hongbin for wanting Wonshik. Because, judging by the look on Hongbin’s pale face, there was something more than casual friendship there.

Fuck. Wonshik was such a fucking hypocrite, playing the hero to his humans, but refusing to admit he loved them. They needed love. Deserved it. Their time was so short. And it was that thought that made up his mind for him. Jaehwan reached for Hongbin’s face with his unoccupied hand. The human was distracted, his mind obviously warring with the way Jaehwan’s hand was making him feel, but not for long.

“Can I fuck you tonight, Hongbin?” he whispered.

The boy inhaled sharply, finally meeting Jaehwan’s gaze. His careful fingers finally reached their destination and the human immediately began to tremble, his whole body wracked with tremors, as Jaehwan began to tease his opening, running the pad of his finger around the lip, pressing just slightly, careful not to breach him, not wanting to cause him pain.

It did not escape his notice that Hongbin was taking some time to answer. He panted and gasped as Jaehwan teased, but he actually hadn’t granted permission.

He was so fucking beautiful, spread out like this beneath him, legs splayed, face flushed, hair a mess, sculpted chest and abs heaving with each breath. Just like…no, he couldn’t have two lovers in bed with him at once. He had to be with Hongbin tonight. Hongbin was kind and beautiful and deserved to be worshipped.

He pulled himself up and kissed Hongbin deeply, pressing just slightly harder to Hongbin’s hole with the pad of his finger. “I want to be so deep inside you. I want to fuck you until you forget everything in this world but me. Please, love,” he whispered against his lips. The human shuddered at the intrusion.

“Do you want me, too?” Jaehwan asked, letting the tip of his tongue glide over Hongbin’s lower lip, the wet trail glistening. The human moaned and tried to capture his mouth, but he raised up, just out of reach. “Do you want my cock in you?”

Hongbin’s eyes squeezed shut. He trembled, pushing against Jaehwan’s teasing finger, and let out a high-pitched whine.

“Right now?”

“Yes,” Hongbin whispered.

“Right here?” Jaehwan teased one more time, knowing he had won.

 “Yes, I want it. I need it…God, just fuck me please. I can’t take anymore,” he begged, his voice raising higher and higher until he was practically crying out in desperate longing. “Please. Please.”

Jaehwan moved away. “Do you have—?”

“There,” Hongbin whispered, gesturing to the drawer of the nightstand.

Securing the little bottle of lube and a condom, Jaehwan leisurely lay back down across Hongbin’s body. The boy whimpered as Jaehwan slicked the fingers of one hand, then began to stroke Hongbin’s hair soothingly with the other, kissing across his chest as he slipped the first finger inside.

“More,” Hongbin demanded immediately. Jaehwan shook his head.

“I don’t want to hurt you. Just relax. I’ll take care of you.”

He thrust slowly, shallowly, until Hongbin had relaxed enough to allow a second to slip in alongside. Ken smiled, watching the young man struggling for breath, his long, elegant body on display, his spent penis half-hard again from the pleasure as Ken thrust a bit harder, stretching the muscle. God, how long must it have been? The human was so fucking tight. So hot. Slick from the lube and making the sexiest little sounds, he was completely irresistible.

And it had been years, so many years since Jaehwan had been inside someone, so long since he’d wanted someone like this. So many years since Henry, so many more since Wonshik… He realized, as he pushed in a third finger, that it went easily, and Hongbin let out a sound like a sob, thrusting his hips down onto Jaehwan’s hand, muttering nonsense, begging for him.

Jaehwan got to his knees, rising up over Hongbin’s waiting body, which thrust at nothing as Ken slid the condom down his length and slicked it with lube. He leaned down to hover over him, and the human’s arms reached up to pull him closer.

“Are you sure, baby?” Jaehwan asked. He may be a horrible tease. He may be emotionally unstable. He may be many things, but he wasn’t going to do this if Hongbin didn’t _really_ want it.

“Fuck me. Need you,” came Hongbin’s broken and desperate reply.

Without another word, Jaehwan pushed inside and both let out a simultaneous cry. Hongbin went very still as Jaehwan sheathed himself within him, and Jaehwan dropped down from his hands to his elbows, rocking his hips shallowly as he began to kiss along the other man’s jaw, rubbing his cheek there, enjoying the slight roughness.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered, and Hongbin gasped.

As Jaehwan’s hips met the human’s perfect ass, the boy sank his nails into Jaehwan’s back, just below his scapula, and Jaehwan hoped he would keep his hands low, not wanting to explain his “scars.” Jaehwan started moving slowly, pressing his body against Hongbin’s, shifting inside, but slowly, so slow, letting him get used to his size. The human raised his eyelids as best he could and his eyes were glassy, pupils blown, high on the pleasure.

“You’re amazing, Lee Hongbin,” Jaehwan whispered, stroking the human’s handsome face, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “You make me feel so…Oh God.” Jaehwan gasped as Hongbin circled his hips and tightened around him, forcing him deeper.

“Ken,” Hongbin moaned. “Ken…” and Jaehwan silenced him with his lips. He didn’t want to hear his false identity falling from that sweet mouth. He wanted Hongbin to call him by his real name, and to call for him only. Jaehwan pushed into him deeper, wanting all of him.

Fuck, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were just supposed to be taking pleasure in each other, having fun. How could this be happening again? How could he betray his dear Henry? How could be betray Wonshik _again_ , his poor beloved Wonshik, whom he’d sworn to love for all of eternity? Whom he still loved with the shattered pieces of his broken heart.

But when he looked down at the boy writing beneath him, so dazzling in the half-light; so warm, so soft, so gentle and worthy of so much more than any one man could give…he felt so….he knew he was in deep trouble. He could feel the blossoming desire to shield this human with his wings and his body, to protect him from those who would try to hurt him. He wanted to take him away from here, to have him all to himself, to show him all the pleasures he had never even dreamed of.

The human was raising his hips now, meeting Jaehwan with each thrust, panting and letting out an occasional whine from the impact, when Jaehwan raised one of his legs and hooked Hongbin’s knee over his shoulder. He reared his hips back and thrust hard, slamming into Hongbin so that he cried out from the shock, and though it had probably hurt, the boy keened and pushed harder against Jaehwan, wanting more.

And Jaehwan couldn’t stop. He wanted to give him more. He wanted to give him everything. He clutched Hongbin tight to his chest, pistoning his hips with waning control.

So beautiful. So fucking beautiful. And the way he moaned made Jaehwan feel like he was losing his own sanity.

 Jaehwan could feel the Power rising up inside him.

He couldn’t stop. He buried his face in Hongbin’s shoulder, knowing his eyes would soon be frightening and strange. He fought to channel the energy rising up inside, flowing through him, crackling like lightning, longing to break free; energy Hongbin’s frail human body could never survive if it escaped, if Jaehwan lost control. He could never lose control. He fought to keep up the false façade, to keep his wings and true form hidden, the form no one living being but Wonshik had ever seen. It had overwhelmed and frightened even the other celestial when he had seen it. Jaehwan hated it with every fiber of his being.

No matter how much control he maintained, though, it was never enough, and Jaehwan could see that he was beginning to glow, faintly, and he continued fucking Hongbin hard, channeling the overflow into physical movement in an attempt to keep the compulsion at bay.

“Harder,” Hongbin begged. “Fuck me harder.” And Jaehwan felt like he could cry.

The headboard thumped and rattled with the power of his strikes to the back of Hongbin’s thighs and the human beneath him sobbed, all senses lost. Hongbin reached up overhead, grabbing the headboard for grounding, and Jaehwan was stunned to hear the wood cracking at the pressure of the boy’s grip. That wasn’t right. The Power he was overflowing into Hongbin was too much. The human had started to glow, too. His unfocused, half-lidded eyes were emitting white light, and with every ounce of effort he had, Jaehwan slowed. Focusing on the connection between them, holding onto Hongbin’s feelings, which were snarled and black and confused, to where Jaehwan winced to feel them, he fought to bring the boy back.

He did his best to draw the energy back within himself, stroking his hands gently over Hongbin’s body, feeling the bumps and dips of his muscles, the warmth of his skin, concentrating on the physical, forcing out the Dream.

It had gotten harder as the years went by, but he’d never come so close to losing it before. He felt like he was losing control of his own body for a moment. It had frightened him enough that he was fully back, and Hongbin appeared to be far more lucid. He blinked blearily at Jaehwan, confused, as though wondering why he’d stopped moving.

“Ken?” he asked, then let out a drawn-out moan as Jaehwan pressed back in deep, needing to distract him. The angel put a hand on the boy’s cheek, bringing their mouths back together, then began to fuck him again, kissing him deeply and swallowing his whimpers and cries.

Hongbin jolted as though he’d been shocked when the angel angled himself to hit his prostate dead-on. He let out a wail that was certain to wake his roommate, and the sound went straight to Jaehwan’s cock. He was nearly exhausted from his battle with his inner Power and he couldn’t take much more. He slipped his hand between them and wrapped his hand around Hongbin’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The effect was immediate, and Jaehwan couldn’t resist a cry of his own as Hongbin’s muscles clenched around him like a vice. It was too much. It felt too good, and he began to thrust raggedly, quickly, all technique lost, and just as Hongbin gasped that he was going to come, Jaehwan came first. His hips juddered through his orgasm and at his first spasm inside, Hongbin arched his back and came _hard_ across his sculpted muscles, painting them with wetness, as though he hadn’t done so two times already this night.

They didn’t speak after, but lay together, just breathing, for several moments before Jaehwan carefully withdrew and rolled off of Hongbin. He reached for the tissues on the nightstand and very gently cleaned Hongbin’s body. He human lay very still, save for the quick rise and fall of his chest as he worked to steady his racing heart and heavy breath, but flinched when Jaehwan’s gentle hands wiped the fluids from between his legs.

“You’re hurting,” Jaehwan whispered. “I’m so sorry, Hongbin.”

“I’m okay,” he slurred. The poor thing was completely out of it.

Jaehwan went to dispose of the soiled tissues and spent condom, and when he returned, opened the window just a crack on the pretense of airing out the room. But truthfully, he was really using it as an excuse to let a bit more of the streetlight in. Hongbin was still glowing faintly, and since he hadn’t noticed yet, Jaehwan thought the extra little bit of light would help keep him ignorant of how badly Jaehwan had fucked up. He hadn’t meant to spill that way – he’d thought his self-control was better.

Hongbin had, in the meanwhile, rolled onto his side, curled up with the sheet drawn just to his waist. Jaehwan nestled his own body behind him, curling around the human protectively. He felt a little bit of vindictiveness, even in the aftermath of what could have been a disaster. Hongbin was positively _overflowing_ with celestial energy, stronger than anything a Malakhim was capable of. Wonshik would feel it immediately, would know what Hongbin had done. If that didn’t keep him away, nothing would. Smiling into his hair and kissing gently across his sweaty nape, Jaehwan drew the human close.

“I promise I won’t ignore you anymore, Hongbin-ah. I promise. I’m sorry.”

Hongbin made a soft humming noise, and Jaehwan drifted off to sleep, warmly enveloped in the human’s scent. He never heard the soft sobs or saw the boy’s tears soaked into the pillowcase before Hongbin finally joined him.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hongbin deals with the aftereffects of being Touched by an Angel (tm)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Twitter poll says that RaBin wins overwhelmingly in the popularity vote in the angel-Hongbin-angel triangle. Just in case you were curious. ;)

Hongbin woke in a daze. For a few blissful moments, he felt dreamy and relaxed. A soft hand was caressing little circles over his hip and a warm mouth was traveling over his shoulder. There was no question he was in Ken’s embrace. He could _feel_ him, not just wrapped around his body, but all through his mind. There was a warm affection flowing through him that he didn’t think was entirely his. It was protective, shielding, almost possessive, something he definitely had never felt for the other man.

This odd thought drew him from his dream state, and he made to roll over, to look at Ken’s face, to see if he was feeling it, too, but the moment he lost physical contact, he couldn’t see. His eyes seemed to be having trouble finding a place to focus. He was dizzy. He felt like there was an electric current running through him, like he’d been electrocuted.

He suddenly felt ill.

“Ken?” he choked out, trying to sit up. He was so dizzy and couldn’t stop shaking. The angel was just reaching out to place a supporting arm behind Hongbin’s back when the human hooked down over the side of the bed and was violently sick.

He heaved several times, tears in his eyes, and bile burning his throat. But worse than the pain, Hongbin was mortified. Through the blur of tears, he immediately started trying to look around the room for something he could use to clean it, or at least something with which to bludgeon Ken hard enough that he would lose his memory of the last 90 seconds, but the room was spinning and he still couldn’t really see anything but the mental imagery of the vomit with which he’d so thoroughly blanketed the hardwood floor.

Hongbin’s bleary mind had only just registered the fact that he was suddenly alone when Ken reappeared, arms laden with a warm washcloth, cleaning supplies, a bucket, a glass of water, and a heating pad.

“I’m sorry,” Hongbin whispered, leaning back onto the pillows Ken was propping up behind him. He wasn’t feeling so nauseous anymore, but his mouth tasted bad, his stomach was churning, and now that he was able to focus better, he realized how badly it hurt just to sit. His cheeks flamed upon remembering the reason why.

“Don’t be sorry,” Ken said, carefully dabbing the sweat from Hongbin’s forehead then wiping his mouth with the damp cloth. “Just relax.”

To Ken’s credit, he cleaned up after Hongbin without any reaction, to which the human was so grateful. Hongbin was still incredibly embarrassed that he’d thrown up, but at least Ken didn’t seem to be completely revolted by him. That would have made it much worse. The other man simply cleaned and Lysoled the floor, opened the window a bit more to air out the room, and discarded the soiled paper towels. He gave Hongbin the glass of water to sip, then plugged in the heating pad and slipped it beneath Hongbin’s lower back, understanding without being told, exactly what he needed. He was able to rest then, with Ken smoothing the hair back off his forehead and singing quietly.

Later, when he discovered that he was having difficulty standing up, Ken carried him to the bathroom and ran a hot bath, complete with the bubbles swiped from his dresser, and stayed to bathe him gently. He treated Hongbin as though he were precious and fragile, and Hongbin couldn’t help but revel in the attention, allowing Ken to baby him.

He was still sore but felt significantly better after they’d both cleaned up a bit and Hongbin had scrubbed his teeth twice, to get rid of the taste of bile, and they’d reconvened back in bed. Hongbin rolled over onto his side to face Ken. The other man gave him one of his sweet, lopsided smiles and caressed his face. Hongbin closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said quietly.

“There’s no need to thank me,” Ken replied. “It’s my fault you’re feeling bad in the first place.”

“How could it be your fault? You only gave me what I asked for.”

Ken didn’t respond, but he looked regretful.

“I’m fine! Honestly,” Hongbin replied.

“That may be,” Ken said. “But I think I’d feel better if you promised not to go to rehearsal tonight?”

“That’s an easy enough promise,” Hongbin smiled. “I’m not scheduled to be there anyway. Jinwoo is working mostly with Hakyeon and Eun Ji on their couple scenes.”

“Really? Does that mean I’m off, too?”

Hongbin pointed to the piece of paper taped onto his mirror. “The schedule’s over there.”

Ken hopped up and examined the calendar.

“I’m not on there, either!” he announced cheerfully as he made his way back over to the bed. “That’s great.”

“What are you going to do?” Hongbin asked, opening his arms. Ken slipped back under the striped duvet and into his embrace, kissing Hongbin on the tip of his nose and poking at his dimples until he smiled back.

“I have a friend who is in a long-term care facility,” Ken said. “I go and visit him whenever I can. So, I’ll probably spend the evening with him. The last few times I’ve gone, I wasn’t able to stay long because of practice.”

Hongbin was surprised, although he knew he probably shouldn’t have been.

“That’s really nice of you.”

“I don’t do it to be nice. I do it because I care.”

That was quite possibly the first truly person thing Ken had ever told him. Hongbin had gotten so used to being mad at Ken and thinking the worst, he’d almost forgotten about the sweetness that drew him to the man in the first place. He felt a bit ashamed and snuggled his face into Ken’s neck, planting a kiss at his pulse point.

“What are you doing tonight?” Ken asked, changing the subject. He absent-mindedly started threading his fingers through Hongbin’s hair again.

“I’m supposed to have dinner with my parents.”

Apparently, Hongbin’s expression betrayed his dread at the upcoming event, because Ken stopped, looking confused.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yes and no,” Hongbin shrugged. “I love them and I want to see them, but it always turns out to be a total shitshow. My dad is…he’s very…I don’t even know. Controlling? He’s strict. He wants things to be done his way. The fact that I didn’t become a doctor or a lawyer or president of a large corporation or something equally awful is a shame to him. The only reason he keeps his mouth shut most of the time is the fact that I don’t take any money from them. No matter what, I’ve always paid my own way. My mom is nicer about me wanting to be an artist, more supportive, but only when my dad’s not around. And neither one of them is really okay with the idea of me dating a man. So, unless I show up with a pretty girlfriend to promise them pretty grandbabies, it’s always going to devolve into an argument by the end of the night.”

“Oh, I see.” Throughout his speech, Ken’s face had taken on an odd expression. He was distracted. “Hongbin, are you feeling okay?”

“I’m okay. Why?”

“You just look…I don’t know. Never mind.”

Hongbin still felt jittery, like he’d consumed too much caffeine and sugar, but he didn’t feel  _bad_. He felt almost uncomfortably energetic, to the point where it was leaving him just on the verge of being queasy. Come to think of it, his body was telling him how he would like to expend the extra energy.

“I’m feeling much better, actually.” He pressed against Ken and nuzzled into his neck. “I was thinking maybe we could—”

“It’s getting kind of late, I think I should probably go,” Ken said at the same time.

Hongbin’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I still want you,” Ken said, making a cute kissy face, then pecking Hongbin lightly on the lips. He blushed. “I have some things I need to do. Call me later?”

Hongbin nodded. 

This time, Hongbin didn’t bother following Ken to the door. The other man didn’t seem to care. He let himself out without any particular flourish and Hongbin laid back on the heating pad again, his ass and his heart hurting, probably in equal measure. He couldn’t understand why he was in so much physical pain. He wasn’t a virgin, and it hadn’t ever been like that before. And Ken hadn’t been too rough with him, at least not that he recalled, not to the point where he should be so stiff now. Maybe he’d just been on so much of a high he didn’t notice? Because it had felt good. Too good.

Hongbin remembered everything. He remembered vividly the way they’d torn at each other’s clothes and fell to the bed together, a mess of skin and nonsensical whispers.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Ken had said, in a tone of voice that intimated even he didn’t believe what he was saying, and Hongbin shut him up with a growled, “Don’t you dare stop now.” And he hadn’t. His hands and lips and cock fit every curve of Hongbin’s body like they’d been designed to fit there, and the blood coursing through his veins was filled with electricity even now, just thinking about it.

But now…able to look back at the situation without Ken right there, tempting him, it was embarrassing how easily he’d let Ken push him to the wall, how easily he’d spread his legs for him, how desperately he had begged for him. Ken always had that little bit of distance. He never felt like he was completely there, while Hongbin was in the moment _so_ completely, he was able to ignore that undercurrent of pain that tainted everything they’d done. He should have known just how easy it would be for Ken to walk out the front door again, just as he had the last time. A little voice whispered inside his head, _but he took care of you. He was good to you_. Hongbin’s brain shouted back, _and how long is it going to be before he calls you **this** time_?

Hongbin angrily reached for his nightstand and groped blindly until he found his phone, looking for a distraction. Unfortunately, he found it, in the form of a voicemail and three unread texts from Wonshik waiting on his lockscreen. Kind, gentle Wonshik, who actually called when he said he would call, who didn’t just take from his body and leave him cold the next morning, who listened when Hongbin spoke, and _fuck_! He could still feel Ken inside him. Hongbin buried his face in his hands, hating himself for his impulsiveness and lack of self-control. What the hell was he going to do now?

He threw the phone back down, this time onto his bed, conscious enough not to want to break the screen, without opening any of the messages, and forced his body out of bed. It didn’t hurt quite as badly now, and irrationally, he found himself almost mad at Ken all over again, for taking such good care of him. How could he bring himself to hate someone like that?

He headed out to the kitchen and poured himself a big bowl of his roommate’s disgusting sugar-coated cereal.

“That’s mine, you know,” Chansik commented casually, from the living room couch.

“Oh, good morning,” Hongbin replied, taking a large bit of the cereal with a pointed look.

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed, having only had three hours sleep due to someone’s marathon sex session last night.”

Fuuuuuu--

“Jesus, hyung,” Hongbin blurted. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize –”

Chansik just laughed, waving it off.

“It’s fine, I’m just playing with you. I probably would have been mad if I had to work today, but as it is, I just put on my headset and had a hardcore gaming session. Feel free to thank me for my generosity in the form of pizza.” Hongbin couldn’t help but smile a little. “Really, though, I guess I’m just glad you’re moving on from whatshername. But I _am_ somewhat hurt that you didn’t introduce me to this mysterious stranger who apparently gives you so much pleasure.”

Hongbin blushed so hard he could feel it in his ears. “He’s gone already.”

“I know,” Chansik replied. “I saw him leave. I don’t think he noticed me. He seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. Did you guys have an argument?”

Hongbin sighed. “No. I don’t know what his deal is, honestly.”

The older boy sat up and leaned on the arm of the couch to regard Hongbin more closely.

“Could be worse than a quick goodbye and a sore ass, I suppose.”

Hongbin glared.

“Speaking of…are you pregnant? You seem to have a certain _glow_ today.”

Hongbin tossed the cereal bowl into the sink and went back to hide in his room, to the sound of his friend’s cackling. He hid there, mostly working on his lines, for the next few hours, until it was time to get ready for dinner. He showered, shaved, and dressed up far more than he normally would have, hoping that it would keep his father on his best behavior. Hongbin in a button-up was far more pleasing to the Lee patriarch than Hongbin in a nerdy teeshirt. In a rare peace offering, he even allowed them to pick him up in front of his apartment building, rather than taking the subway.

His relationship with his parents had been strained for years. He loved them, of course he did, but they’d spent so little time with each other, he didn’t really know what to say when he was around them. That meant they spent a lot of time looking at each other without really saying much. And then when they did speak, it was usually on a topic that he’d really prefer to avoid, such as when he was going to get a “real job,” or when he was going to get married and give them grandchildren.

So that’s how he ended up at a restaurant table, with his third empty wine glass, and a bowl of pasta in front of him that he was playing with, far more than actually eating. They had already broached the usual suspects, such as when Hongbin was going to get a haircut, when Hongbin was going to get a promotion at his job, and when Hongbin was going to quit his “ridiculous” ballet class (His father looked thrilled when he said he had already done, Hongbin felt it might have been worth staying, just so his father couldn’t think himself right).

“Do you want us to come to your musical, Hongbin?” his mother was asking. His father side-eyed her a bit, a large bite of fettucine alfredo in his mouth. Not only did he not really approve of his son’s acting ambitions, but he wasn’t fond of musicals.

“You don’t have to,” he said noncommittally, swirling a piece of spinach around a cheese tortellini on the end of his fork. “I don’t have a large role, anyway.”

That wasn’t entirely true since the play was more of an ensemble piece, but it seemed to placate his parents, who obviously had been hoping he’d say no. He lifted the fork to his mouth, hoping that stuffing his mouth full would keep them from asking any more obnoxious questions.

“So, have you heard anything from Kyung Hee?”

His hand lowered immediately and his eyes narrowed. His father was entering dangerous territory and didn’t even seem to know it. He should have.

“We broke up, father. Six months ago. I told you that.”

“But you could get back together if you just admitted that you were—"

Their waiter approached, offering to refill their wine glasses. His father waved him away. Hongbin held up his glass, and when it was full, took a large swallow as the young man made his quick escape from the palpable tension of the table.

“That I was _what_ , exactly?” Hongbin hissed over the rim of his glass.

“Well, if you admitted you made a mistake.”

Yep. There it was. Exactly as Hongbin had expected. He set the glass down harder than was necessary and the bloodred liquid slopped over the edge.

“She cheated on me. She left me for another man. How did I make the mistake, exactly?”

“She was a good girl. She must have had a _reason_.”

Hongbin stood up quickly, his knee hitting the table leg and making the glasses rattle together. His wineglass swayed precariously, then settled.

“Sit down, Hongbin. You are making a scene,” his father snapped.

“Please, son, you’ve hardly touched your food,” his mother added, her forehead creased.

“Thank you for dinner. I apologize for having to leave so soon, but I promised to go meet my _boyfriend_.”

He was being unnecessarily loud, just on principle. All of the tables nearby had turned to stare.

“Hongbin!” his father hissed, his cheeks flaming red.

Hongbin met his eyes cooly, turned on his heel, and stalked away. This time his mother didn’t try to stop him, and he wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad about the fact.

Other diners were watching with wide eyes, either gawking at Hongbin as he strode by confidently, or back at his parents, who looked humiliated. He waved pleasantly at the restaurant host as he passed, who didn’t seem to know what to do, and threw the glass door open, letting in a blast of cold air.

He stepped out into the wind, wrapping his arms around his torso. He’d left his jacket on the back of his chair. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. Through the angry tears that were stinging his eyes, he saw movement. A wave. Hongbin’s gaze was drawn to a man standing just across the street. In a long black coat, his hair hanging down into his eyes, was Wonshik.

A few cars passed, blocking him from view for a moment, just long enough for Hongbin to think he had been a figment of his imagination, then the street cleared and Wonshik stared at him openly, not in greeting, but as though he were startled. Hongbin ran through the momentary lapse in traffic, straight into Wonshik’s embrace. The other man wrapped his strong arms around Hongbin’s back.

“Hey, hey, Binnie. It’s okay. It’s okay. What happened?”

Hongbin just pressed his face harder into the shoulder of Wonshik’s wool coat, willing himself not to cry, and Wonshik curved his head into Hongbin’s shoulder as well, just for a moment, but then stiffened. Hongbin could immediately feel the discomfort in the rigidity of the other man’s body.

Wonshik pressed his face close to Hongbin’s neck, inhaling, and the human nearly shivered to feel the heat radiating from his skin. Wonshik did visibly shiver.

“Who have you been with?” Wonshik demanded. He pulled away to look into Hongbin’s face.

“Lee Hongbin!”

His father’s voice echoed from across the street and Hongbin whipped around, standing directly in front of Wonshik as though to shield him with his body. His father crossed the street, anger written over his features.

“You do not walk away from your mother and me in that manner. Is that how we raised you?”

“ _You_  didn’t raise me,” Hongbin sniped back.

“And yet still I must claim a son who shows no respect?” he shouted. “And this, is this your so-called boyfriend?”

Wonshik looked a little shell-shocked. Hongbin hadn’t had the chance to tell him what transpired in the restaurant yet. He wished suddenly that he wasn’t there, didn’t have to see this.

“No, he’s—”

“Don’t lie to me! Not only is my son rude and disrespectful, but he’s also a—”

Wonshik stepped between the two men.

“Sir, my name is Kim Wonshik,” he said calmly. “And yes, I am Hongbin’s boyfriend.”

“I don’t care who you are, but you’re going to stay away from my son!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Hongbin could feel his hands beginning to tremble, from the adrenaline flowing through him. He was starting to feel sick again. He stepped back around Wonshik, looking into his face as he did so. “Wonshik, please, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t you call his name!” Hongbin’s father snapped.

“Sir,” Wonshik began, again, just as the older man threw a punch.

Wonshik threw his hand up to block the man’s incoming fist, and this likely would have been enough, but Hongbin didn’t even realize what was happening until it was already done. Hongbin yanked Wonshik out of the way, shielding him. He caught his father’s fist in midair, in just the place where it would have connected with Wonshik’s cheek, and he shoved the man hard, sending him hurtling backward into the lamp post, where he sank to the ground, dazed.

Hongbin panted, looking down at his hands, startled by what he’d just done, but not regretting it even a little.

“Your eyes,” his father whispered. “Hongbin…”

“We’re leaving, Wonshik,” Hongbin said in a voice cold as ice.

Wonshik draped his coat over Hongbin’s shoulders as they headed down the sidewalk and followed without argument, taking Hongbin’s arm after a moment, and leading him around the corner to his car. Hongbin got in the passenger seat without either of them saying a word and then they were pulling out into the evening traffic of the next road.

Wonshik was angry. Seriously angry. Hongbin had never seen Wonshik this angry before. And as much as he hoped he wouldn’t have to see it again, it calmed him a great deal. The man looked intimidating and cold. Even though Hongbin knew it wasn’t directed at him, and although he much preferred sweet, gentle Wonshik, it was nice that someone else was angry on his behalf.

They’d only driven for a couple of minutes before Hongbin asked, “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

“That you were my boyfriend?”

Wonshik glanced at Hongbin out of the corner of his eye. His expression softened. “I’m sorry if that was a mistake. From what he said, it sounded like you told him that you had a boyfriend and he didn’t approve. I was trying to make myself his target instead of you, since he obviously wanted to hit something. I’m sorry it didn’t work. You shouldn’t have hit your father, Hongbin. He’ll likely not forgive you soon.”

Hongbin didn’t know what to say but found that he didn’t care. He probably shouldn’t have hit his father, but he was so sick of being made to feel like he’d done something wrong, that _he_ was wrong. The bastard had only gotten what he deserved.

Wonshik flipped on the windshield wipers and they moved with a squawk across the glass. It was starting to rain and it froze as it hit the vehicle, little globs of ice forming and sticking to the surface where the wipers couldn’t smear the water away.

They’d driven in a wide circle by now, spanning several blocks, and Hongbin realized he’d never even questioned where they were going.

“Would you like me to take you home?” Wonshik asked.

Hongbin looked down at his feet, tapping the toes of his expensive shoes together. It would be a shame to ruin them.

“Honestly, not really,” he admitted. “But I’m sure you have somewhere to be. Maybe you could just drop me off at a café or something? I can walk home.”

“Would you like to come over my place instead?” Wonshik looked hesitant. “I mean, just to hang out. Not for…” He paused, panicking, not knowing how to finish the sentence without insinuating something rude. Hongbin smiled.

“It’s just, I have coffee, and snacks, too, and you wouldn’t have to—"

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

Wonshik looked relieved. “No, not at all.”

“Let’s do that, then.”

Wonshik took a right turn, then another, and headed off in the opposite direction. Hongbin was surprised to find himself back in the area close to Hakyeon’s apartment, the ramyeon shop, the park, and the dance studio. He hadn’t realized that Wonshik lived so close.

Wonshik pulled into an underground parking garage and into a reserved space near the elevator. It had his name on it. Hongbin had barely placed his hand on the door handle when Wonshik had dashed around the car to open the door for him. He really was too good to be true.

They rode up to Wonshik’s floor in silence. Hongbin was practically vibrating both from the odd energy he’d been contending with all day, the adrenaline from the fight, and the nerves of being alone with the other man.

It’s not that he hadn’t been alone with Wonshik before, but never quite in this close proximity, and never in a place that wasn’t public. It was making it easy to notice little things about Wonshik that he hadn’t really noticed before. Like the tiny freckle on his cheek, the edge of a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and the way his pointed chin was so smooth, you couldn’t see the tiniest trace of stubble there, even at early evening. He directed his gaze back at the floor so he wouldn’t be caught staring.

They arrived in the hallway and Wonshik led him to the right door, punched in the security code, and held it open for him to enter.

“Woah,” Hongbin breathed. “This is really nice.”

He felt immediately intimidated. He had always been daunted by wealth, not having come from any himself, and there was certainly wealth here. It wasn’t that the apartment was pretentious; it was comfortable, but obviously no one had stepped foot inside of an Ikea during the interior design phase. Though, he supposed it made sense. A bodyguard probably made good money, due to the inherent danger of the job.

Wonshik slipped his coat from Hongbin’s shoulders in a gentlemanly fashion and hung it in the closet as Hongbin removed his shoes.

“It’s not all mine,” Wonshik said modestly. “Taekwoon lives here, too.”

“Who?”

“Oh, I forgot you know him as Leo. That’s just a nickname an old friend of ours had given him.”

Wonshik took off his own shoes as Hongbin stepped inside and began to examine the space. It was very clean; he approved, being a bit of a neatnik himself. And the décor was eclectic, without being awkward: a mix of classic and modern. The art was interesting. A picture on the wall near the large living room window caught Hongbin’s eye.

“No way. That’s not…it can’t be….”

“You like Ai Weiwei?” Wonshik asked.

“He’s my favorite!” Hongbin cried, dashing over to the picture. “That isn’t a print, is it? That’s not a print. Oh my God, that’s the original.”

Wonshik tried to hide his smile.

“I didn’t realize you were so interested in art,” he said.

“I’m not, usually. I tend to favor photography, which is how I got into his work, but he creates art in so many different types of media, it was impossible not to expand my interest.”

He lingered in front of it a while longer, then they chatted more about the art as Wonshik clattered about the kitchen, making coffee, and he told Hongbin in detail about each piece he’d chosen for the apartment. They were, in fact, all originals, most having a theme of rebellion against evil and social justice, which Wonshik felt very passionately about, and while Wonshik didn’t say anything at all about the price tags, Hongbin couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed just being in the presence of greatness.

He slipped a coffee cup over to Hongbin a few moments later and they sat across from each other at the table. Wonshik propped his cheek up with one hand as Hongbin wrapped his hands around the cup, warming them, and inhaled the steam. It smelled wonderful.

“Are you alright?”

Hongbin swallowed hard. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? Because if you’re uncomfortable here, I can take you home. It’s not a problem.”

“No, I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Alright, well, if you’re sure…I was thinking, if you wanted to, we could—”

“I slept with Ken.”

Wonshik froze. “What?”

Fuck, Hongbin hadn’t meant to blurt it out just like that. It needed to be said…but fuck, it shouldn’t have been said like that.

Too late now.

“I…I slept with Ken. That’s why I didn’t answer your call. I-I needed you to know.”

“Okay.” Wonshik looked as though his brain had momentarily stopped functioning. His face was a blank. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know. I guess, because I thought that maybe you wouldn’t like it. And I felt sorry for it. I didn’t intend for it to happen, and even though it’s probably presumptuous of me to think that you and I could--”

Hongbin trailed off, examining Wonshik’s face very carefully. He had a strained look to his eyes that made him appear as though he were performing complex mathematics inside of his head. He wasn’t hearing a word Hongbin was saying anymore.

Finally, Wonshik asked quietly, “Are you in love with him?”

“No.” Hongbin shook his head. He stared down at the coffee cup clenched between his hands. His knuckles were white.

“Are you…are you going to do it again?” Wonshik forced out.

“No. With him, I just…I can’t…I’m going to tell him that we should just be friends.”

“And what do you want to be…with me?

Hongbin thought it was a bit unfair, forcing a confession this way, but with everything Hongbin had just revealed, he didn’t blame Wonshik for not wanting to be the first to say anything more. So, he would say it.

“More…” Hongbin answered. “More than just friends.”

The angel nodded.

\---

Wonshik had always been so careful. He’d always kept his distance. He never interacted with humans outside of those he guarded, or those related to his various personas. He kept it professional, in a way. So why _this_ human? Why _now_?

It’s a cruel sort of torture to kiss fingerprinted skin. He’d learned that the hard way, with Jaehwan. He’d suspected Hongbin had some sort of tryst as soon as he’d felt the celestial energy lingering on him, in him, so it wasn’t a total surprise. But he hadn’t expected Hongbin to confirm it. He would have done his best to ignore it if he hadn’t. Because it wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of Hongbin with another man. He hated it. It reviled him. _Especially_ with another celestial, to know that another creature like him had noticed the human, had found him to be beautiful. The way Wonshik had felt when he’d met Hongbin on the street, outside the restaurant, couldn’t even be described; he’d been so drawn to the heavenly energy flowing through him, he wanted to ravage him right there. He wanted to kiss him breathless and fuck him until he couldn’t remember his own name. He wanted to see this kind, beautiful human wrecked and ruined and gasping, and he wanted to love him until he wept his soul from his eyes.

And then when Hongbin had inadvertently _used_ that energy. Wonshik had never seen anything so sexy in his entire life. Hongbin was already so brave, so strong; to see his fierce glare, like a warrior, bathed in light, defending _him_ , it was so hot. Fuck, he’d give him his _own_ energy, all of it, just for the opportunity to see _that_ again, one more time.

That’s not to say that Wonshik didn’t want that energy for himself, though. Oh God, yes, he wanted it, craved it. He craved it in the way he’d craved Jaehwan’s energy coursing through his own body, the way it had when they’d made love. But he also wanted to _destroy_ the angel who had left it there. The angel who thought he’d won by claiming Hongbin’s body, when it was Wonshik who held his heart.

The image of sweet Hongbin wrapped in an intimate embrace with this faceless stranger came unbidden to his mind: sweaty and disheveled, his head cocked back, lips parted, and this nameless celestial marking Hongbin’s flesh with his mouth, fucking into his body with harsh slaps against damp skin, making him moan. The surge of emotion that he’d felt in that moment left him breathless, or would have, if he’d needed to breathe, and it felt like a strike to the face knowing how he’d scolded Taekwoon for being weak to these same sorts of emotions. He regretted it now. Because the jealousy and the longing overtook all reason.

He could still feel the energy flowing through Hongbin’s blood, the energy of _that_ angel, reaching out to him, tempting him. Hongbin was still full of that other being, and Wonshik hated it and loved it. He hated that he was drawn to it. He hated that he wanted them both, when all he should want was Hongbin. He could see the light in the whites of his eyes, the faint luminosity to his fair skin that only one of celestial blood could recognize, feel the power radiating from him. And he could smell the human’s lust, which wouldn’t really go away until the energy itself faded. Hongbin would continue longing for that angel, an angel that wasn’t Wonshik. And as long as it was Hongbin holding that energy inside, Wonshik would want it, too.

He needed to find out who it was. No third-choir angel could have had _that_ kind of effect on the human. Not that strong, not for that long. Second-choir, then. And he had to be a Dominion at least, to have the kind of self-regulation to have not killed Hongbin in his passion. Possibly a Power, but they don’t usually interact with humans if they can avoid it, so perhaps not. And now, he wanted nothing more than to stand physically between Hongbin and this _Ken_ , which was obviously not the other angel’s real name, and personally ensure that he’d never lay a hand on his human again. Not that he’d remotely stand a chance against the power of a Dominion…

His human. He’d thought, _his_ human. Fuck.

“Wonshik?” the human asked.

The Malakhim looked up into the boy’s bright brown eyes and felt the rage settle somewhat into a hot, seething sensation in the pit of his stomach where it could stay until it became useful. Because Hongbin’s expression made him ache: Wide-open. Vulnerable. Pained. He had taken too long to answer, and the boy obviously thought he was being rejected. Wonshik swallowed hard. His mouth felt very dry, like he couldn’t use his voice. He felt, if he tried, he’d sound like Taekwoon after years of Watching.

Wonshik reached out his hand, sliding it slowly across the table towards Hongbin. The human looked down at the fingertips now within reach. Just as slowly, he moved his hand from his coffee and hesitantly touched them. The pads of his fingers were radiating heat from the cup, and at the soft touch of skin-on-skin, both of their bodies physically relaxed, the connection making them whole.

Wonshik threaded their fingers together, feeling the celestial energy bleeding into him, linking the three of them together, and met Hongbin’s eyes with a wavering smile. It felt so fucking good.

“Me, too,” he whispered. “More.”

He was going to find out who that other angel was, and he was going to have Hongbin to himself, or not at all.

Stupid Wonshik. He was so fucked.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hakyeon resorts to desperate measures to get Taekwoon to come out of hiding

A week. Taekwoon had followed Hakyeon night and day for a week straight. And it was getting absolutely ridiculous.

Hakyeon hadn’t minded it at first. In fact, he kind of liked it. It didn’t feel creepy or Big Brother-y at all, because through whatever sort of weird mind-connection-thing they seemed to have developed, he could feel Taekwoon’s intentions, and all the angel wanted was closeness. He was still afraid of revealing himself fully to Hakyeon, but he couldn’t bear to be away from him, either. It was sort of sweet, in a way, how a supernatural being could be so in awe of _him_. Hakyeon reveled in the attention and couldn’t resist taking advantage of it in many ways, such as when he rehearsed. He’d always loved performing just for the performance’s sake, but when he knew Taekwoon was watching him, that was the adoring audience he’d always craved. Now, when he danced, he danced for his angel alone, and it made him feel proud, seductive, _worthy_ , reaching ever higher levels of perfection in his movement. His instructor said he’d never danced better and his classmate joked that if he got another head injury, he’d immediately be made principle dancer of the Korean National Ballet, and offered to push him down the stairs. He declined the kind offer.

But he was starting to feel somewhat lonely. Days had gone by and when Ink would venture to his bedroom at night, ruffled and purring from Taekwoon’s enthusiastic petting, or when he’d feel the brush of a kiss against his hair as he pretended to sleep, it grew increasingly tiresome to feign ignorance, as the angel was trying so hard to be invisible.

Hakyeon was good, though. He’d tried to practice patience. He didn’t call him. He didn’t text him. He didn’t betray the fact that he knew he was there. He waited, and trusted in his instincts, his connection, until one night, that last night, he was overcome and overwhelmed by longing for the man who was so close, yet so far away.

Taekwoon had taken up his usual spot in the living room, stretched out on the couch, close enough to touch, yet as unreachable as if he were on Jupiter. And that’s when Hakyeon hatched a devious plot. He fought back the smile that yearned to rise up, and instead, finished the chapter of the book he’d been reading and began his nighttime ritual. He got himself a glass of water, washed and moisturized his face, cleaned his teeth, went to the bedroom, and after flipping off the lights and slipping beneath the sheets, slipped his hand into his boxers. He was already half-hard since the moment he’d decided to tease Taekwoon, and it didn’t take long for the bold, familiar strokes to coax himself there fully.

He could hear a soft rustling sound from the living room and a few soft thumps as Taekwoon played quietly with Ink, but the sound stopped abruptly as Hakyeon let out a soft moan. He caressed himself, first gently, then a bit harder, as he imagined the look on Taekwoon’s flushed face, not knowing what to do with what was going on in the next room. Did angels masturbate? From Taekwoon’s reaction to what had transpired between them the previous week, Hakyeon supposed not, which made this even better. The angel’s innocence was, much to Hakyeon’s surprise, quite a turn-on.

Hakyeon was a bit of an exhibitionist. Alright, more than a bit – he was _definitely_ an exhibitionist. Vanity was a vice he could not deny; he loved being loved, wanted to be wanted, and despite his usual easy confidence, had not ever really held the dominance in any of his past relationships. Being the experienced one, showing Taekwoon what to do, holding power over such a powerful being was exciting. Remembering the way he had ridden Taekwoon the previous week, knowing he was in control, even now, from another room, was hot as hell. He let out a soft cry as he slipped his thumb over the slit and spread the beads of precum down below the head, into that little spot that felt so good, and continued to let out little whimpers and sighs of pleasure as his pumped his cock in earnest, the way he liked it, just right.

He thought about what it would be like to show Taekwoon how to pleasure him. He imagined the way Taekwoon would look, pressed down to his knees, soft pink lips stretched around Hakyeon’s cock, the sounds he would make with that soft, airy voice. Hakyeon imagined Taekwoon gaining confidence, pressing him down into the mattress, and…

He could feel the spike in Taekwoon’s emotions: a little embarrassment, a little shame, a lot of arousal, and knowing just what he needed to push both himself and his angel over the edge, he slipped a finger inside himself, just enough. Hakyeon immediately arched and curled his toes into the blankets at the delicious sensation, and he came, crying out Taekwoon’s name as the orgasm overtook him and he spurted into the tissues he’d had the foresight to prepare. 

He spasmed again and again, yearning for his angel’s touch. The world was spinning and as Hakyeon lay back, riding the high of his release, enjoying the little aftershocks that drew him from his drowsy dreaminess, Hakyeon noted that he was quite alone. Poor Taekwoon had fled, probably to attempt to relieve himself in a similar fashion. And Hakyeon couldn’t stop laughing.

Ah well, if seducing him into coming out of hiding didn’t work, he’d have to resort to more desperate measures.

\---

The next day, Taekwoon sat on his old window ledge directly across from the dance studio, Still, cold, and framed by the window’s arch, he could have been a statue, an intentional part of the architecture. The wind whipped around him, but neither his hair nor clothing stirred. He was sulking.

Being here these last few days felt a bit nostalgic. It wasn’t that he really desired to be a Watcher anymore, he loved being with his Dancer, getting to know him better as a soul rather than living art, but he couldn’t deny that his life had been a whole lot simpler before he’d Interfered.

He could see The Dancer through the window, as he always had. Though now, The Dancer was visible more often than not, having chosen a spot near the window all week long. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought Hakyeon was toying with him deliberately. Especially last night. His face darkened.

He’d had a general idea that humans were able to pleasure themselves in a similar way to how they would with others, but the thought of The Dancer doing it had never even occurred to him. The fact that The Dancer was calling out Taekwoon’s name in the midst of his pleasure was…gratifying, but Taekwoon was still a little overwhelmed by the whole phenomenon.

That night, he’d returned to his apartment, materializing into his own room, fortunately, as Wonshik had an unexpected guest out on the couch. Taekwoon immediately recognized the light thudding heartbeat and low vocal tones as Hakyeon’s dancer-friend, Hongbin. He had no idea what Hongbin was doing in his apartment with Wonshik, but from the sound of the TV, they were together in the living room watching some kind of variety show where they make idols do ridiculous stunts. Both were giggling like hyenas as the members of a popular pop group were running an obstacle course through the mud. He could smell the spice from the dakgalbi they’d apparently had for dinner. His stomach gurgled. It was a strange sensation.

He had closed his door as quietly as possible. Hongbin was cackling over something happening on the screen and didn’t notice, though he knew that Wonshik would be fully aware of his presence. It didn’t matter. Taekwoon undressed and lay down in his bed. Thinking of the one forbidden glimpse of The Dancer he’d caught, back arched and eyes clenched shut as he pleasured himself, before he rushed through the veil, Taekwoon touched himself. It felt…nice. He gently moved his hand over his erection, first teasing with fingertips, then squeezing and stroking hard, seeing what felt good.

All of it did.

He didn’t allow himself to finish. He wanted it to be The Dancer who made him feel like that. But even that thought made him realize that he wasn’t going to be able to hide forever. The Dancer knew what he was now. He said it was okay. He didn’t hate Taekwoon for not being normal, for not being human. Perhaps it would be okay to talk to him. Just a little bit. Soon.

Taekwoon had been lost in his thoughts for a while. He looked back through the window into the dance studio and was surprised to see that the class had been completed. The lights were off. He was just readying himself to go looking for Hakyeon when a voice startled him.

“Don’t jump,” the voice shouted up from down below.

He looked down towards the sound and his eyes narrowed, focused on the face of The Dancer. His Hakyeon, looking up at him from the sidewalk. For some reason, he felt like he was going to cry. They’d come full-circle.

Several strangers, upon hearing The Dancer’s words, looked up in a panic. One woman let out a little scream, but after seeing that nothing was there, they simply shot ugly looks at the boy and carried about their business. “Crazy,” a businessman in a pinstriped suit muttered, stepping away.

The Dancer tried again.

“Come down and we can talk? Please?”

“You need to stop this,” Taekwoon begged, immediately appearing next to Hakyeon and grabbing him by the arm.

Hakyeon smiled happily, allowing himself to be maneuvered off the street.

“You need to stop making a scene in public. They can’t see me, and you’re going to get hurt,” Taekwoon insisted, dragging him through the doors of the coffee shop, sleigh bells tinkling from the handle. They dropped into seats at a table by the door.

“Seeing as you wouldn’t answer my calls and have been following me around without saying a word for a week, I figured a scene was the only thing that was going to get you to talk.”

Taekwoon stilled. “How did you know I…?”

“Because I saw you?” Hakyeon said, giving him a look like he was being an idiot. Taekwoon was growing unfortunately used to that look.

“But I was…”

“I know. You were to everyone else. But I could still see you. On the window ledge. In the back of the auditorium. At the grocery store. On my couch. I’ve had to resort to increasingly desperate measures,” Hakyeon chastised.

Taekwoon froze. “Wait, you mean last night—”

Hakyeon hid his smile behind his hand. “Guilty. Oh my gosh, Taekwoon, you should see your face!” He couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re a sneaky, manipulative little…”

“Hey, I was horny.” Hakyeon shrugged. “Was I supposed to wait for weeks until you decided to stop being a Peeping Tom?” Taekwoon spluttered.

“I wasn’t being a—”

Taekwoon was getting too worked up. Hakyeon knew it was time to stop the teasing.

“Taekwoonie, I know. I know.” He took the angel’s hand in his and kissed each knuckle. Taekwoon sighed, relaxing at Hakyeon’s touch.

“Can we talk today?” The Dancer asked. Taekwoon tensed again, briefly.

“Please? I missed you,” Hakyeon whispered, continuing his ministrations until Taekwoon had calmed. Finally, he gave in.

“Fine. But don’t call me out like that anymore. You put yourself at risk.”

“It got you to come down, though, didn’t it?” Hakyeon smirked. When Taekwoon just looked at him, his face stoic, he sighed.

“You’ve been following me everywhere. You obviously wanted to be with me. Why wouldn’t you just talk to me?”

“You shouldn’t have been able to see me,” Taekwoon frowned.

“Why?”

“I was invisible to everyone else,” he protested.

“Except Ken,” Hakyeon commented.

“What?”

“Ken saw you. You two glared at each other. I saw you.” Hakyeon frowned. “Wait…you two being friends…are you saying that Ken?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Ken? An ang—” Taekwoon clapped a hand over Hakyeon’s mouth.

“Are you crazy? Somebody could hear you!”

“Angh whght abght Wdjgshghk?” Hakyeon gurgled from beneath Taekwoon’s hand.

“What?” He lifted his palm.

“And what about Wonshik?” Taekwoon replaced his hand.

The two of them glared at each other for several moments, then Taekwoon shook his head.

“Fine. Just…not here.”

Hakyeon smiled brightly and stood. “Then let’s go!”

\---

Taekwoon had calmed significantly by the time they reached Hakyeon’s apartment. They had stopped on the way for chicken take-out “so we don’t have to go out again later,” Hakyeon had said, and the bag he was currently carrying in one hand (The Dancer held the other) smelled appetizing. He was secretly pleased that he wouldn’t be eating Hakyeon’s cooking again, though he’d rather be dismembered than admit it.

They got inside, removed coats and hats and gloves, and Taekwoon lounged in the living room, scratching the back of Ink’s neck, as Hakyeon put the chicken in the oven to keep warm, and the Coke in the fridge to keep cold. Then the human joined him on the sofa, and the cat relocated to his owner’s lap. Taekwoon didn’t blame him. He’d rather be laying on Hakyeon, too.

Hakyeon looked at him expectantly.

“What?” Taekwoon asked, bewildered.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Aish, Taekwoon…Does it really have to be an interview?”

Hakyeon thought for a moment. “Alright. Is Taekwoon your real name?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re an angel.” It wasn’t technically a question, so Taekwoon didn’t reply.

“Who named you? Do you have parents? Are angels even born?”

Taekwoon shook his head. “We’re made, not born, and we don’t have families in the way humans do. We cannot reproduce, and we do not grow or change. We are formed, fully-grown, and placed where we need to be.” He paused for a moment, trying to remember the rest of the questions. “Wonshik named me. He chose his own name, though. He’s the closest thing to family I have.”

“How old are you?”

Taekwoon shrugged. “Twenty-five hundred years, give or take? I could ask The Seer, I suppose, if you really want to know. He would probably be able to tell me. But it’s never been particularly important.”

Hakyeon was broken. His eyes had glazed over and he’d stopped his absent-minded stroking of the cat, his hand hovering in mid-air. The fuzzy black face shoved against his curled fingers impatiently.

“Was that it?” Taekwoon asked hopefully.

“Not on your life!” Hakyeon exclaimed, making the angel jump and the cat race off into the bedroom for safety. “You can’t just tell me you’re two _thousand_ years old and expect me to not need a minute. How is that possible? So you’re immortal—?”

Taekwoon cut him off. He’d been expecting that question.

“To a certain extent, you could call me immortal, because celestials cannot be killed by any earthly means, but we can be killed. By other celestial beings, though that would be an affront to God, or we can die of our own volition.”

“In what way?” Hakyeon demanded.

Taekwoon fidgeted, picking at a rip in his jeans. It wasn’t a pleasant topic, particularly given the circumstances he currently found himself in.

“There are other…dimensions, you could say? Worlds? Realities? It’s hard to explain in a way a human would understand.” Hakyeon frowned. “I don’t mean that condescendingly, I promise. It’s just that your language is limited, and there are things that cannot be explained, only shown. Things you haven’t seen.”

Hakyeon seemed to accept this and motioned for him to go on.

“When we enter another reality, like another’s thoughts, or even our own, we are just as present as I am in this body. So, if we die in our own reality, in our mind, our corporeal form will also cease to exist.” The human obviously didn’t understand. His brow had furrowed, and his head cocked to the side just a little.

“Say, for example, an angel loves,” he said hesitantly, “and the being they love does not love them in return, or perishes, or what have you, and that angel is left alone. Say that angel, lost to despair, desires not to exist anymore…you see, an angel is created for a purpose. If their purpose fades, then they fade.”

“And they die of a broken heart?” Hakyeon finished. It was a simplistic way of looking at it, but for the most part, true.

“It’s happened,” Taekwoon said simply. “I thought it had happened to a friend not too many years ago. He fell, and I thought—”

“There are fallen angels?”

Taekwoon nodded. “But it’s not really known what happens to them when they fall. At least, it’s not known to my kind.”

“What do you mean by your kind?”

Taekwoon rubbed his hands over his face. “Again, it’s hard to explain. There are Choirs of angels, divisions, and some are more powerful than others.”

“What level are you? I mean, what kind? Oh, was that rude?” Hakyeon asked, crossing his legs beneath him and facing Taekwoon. The angel mirrored the gesture, the corners of his mouth lifting a little.

“No, dearest, not rude. I’m one of the lesser angels. I don’t have, like, superpowers, if that’s what you’re imagining. I am…I _was_ a Watcher.”

“What’s a Watcher?”

“We’re…they’re the eyes of God. God would see the world through our eyes. Whatever we were Watching, He would see.”

“But you said you ‘were.’ Aren’t you still?”

“No. When I,” Taekwoon inhaled and exhaled slowly, once, “When I fell in love with you, I inadvertently abandoned my Watch. My Intent changed to watching over just you. That became my purpose. I became your Guardian.”

At his words, Hakyeon stopped breathing.

“Say it again,” he whispered. Taekwoon didn’t have to ask which part. He had the feeling the human had forgotten all about celestial hierarchies.

“I fell in love with you,” he repeated, reaching out to cup Hakyeon’s cheek. “Oh, Hakyeon, don’t you know I’m in love with you?”

Tears began to flow from The Dancer’s eyes, puddling at the place where Taekwoon’s palm met Hakyeon’s cheekbone.

“Darling?” he whispered. “What’s the matter?”

“I love you, too,” Hakyeon sobbed. “I love you so much.”

And suddenly, The Dancer was in his lap, kissing him so hard their teeth clicked together, and he could barely breathe. But he didn’t need to. He cupped his human’s bottom, holding him close, stroking his delicate hips with his thumbs until he started to calm a bit.

“I love you. I love you,” Hakyeon murmured between kisses and little hiccups.

Taekwoon began to stroke his back, up and down, soothing him. “I told you, dearest, you are everything to me.”

Hakyeon lay his head down on Taekwoon’s shoulder and wrapped both arms around him. Taekwoon let him rest there for a long time, then kissed his hair.

“You’re tired. Why don’t you take a nap?”

“Not tired,” Hakyeon murmured, obviously half-asleep. Taekwoon waited, humming softly and continuing to stroke his back until his body grew heavy and his limbs drooped. He scooped him up gently and carried him to bed.

Taekwoon lay down next to the man he loved, running his hands over him gently, caressing his chin, the curve of his elbow, the outside of his thigh, little places he’d never had cause to touch before. Hakyeon curled up towards him, seeking nearness in sleep, so Taekwoon gathered him in close and wrapped his wings around them both. He’d never done so with anyone but Wonshik before.

It was perhaps an hour later that Hakyeon began to stir. He reached out for Taekwoon immediately, waking slowly since he found him present. His clumsy fingers disturbed a few feathers on Taekwoon’s wing and he resisted the urge to shiver. It was a thrilling feeling.

“I thought I was dreaming,” The Dancer mumbled. “I’m glad that I wasn’t.”

Taekwoon simply hummed in response and kissed his forehead. He could smell the chicken, still warm in the oven, and it was distracting. He wanted it but couldn’t have possibly disturbed The Dancer. Now that he was awake, he was ready to get down to it.

Hakyeon didn’t seem to notice. He took some time to wake up fully, and when he did, he rested his head comfortably on the angel’s underwing.

“Taekwoon? Is there a heaven?” He sounded very childlike.

“Yes.”

The Dancer looked up, his face full of wonder.

“What is it like?”

Taekwoon smiled, caressing the hair back from his face and kissed his lips again, very softly, again and again until the human was whimpering and rolling his body in waves against him in his search for more contact. His cheeks were flushed, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his breath coming in soft pants. Taekwoon licked the tip of his little nose.

“Beautiful.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are many misunderstandings...or are there?

After what he’d done the previous night, this had not been the way Hongbin had expected to spend his evening: curled up on Wonshik’s couch with drinks and snacks, playing video games together. He didn’t expect to be there again the next day, or again, the day after that. They hadn’t done anything more than hold hands that first night, and on the subsequent nights, they sort-of cuddled a bit on the couch with Wonshik’s head on his lap, then with Hongbin’s head on Wonshik’s shoulder, but Hongbin was glad to be taking things slow, not wanting the whole thing to combust, then crash and burn, like it had with Ken.

And he still hadn’t told Ken…

He’d meant to, but when he went back to rehearsal the next day, Ken had been in such a good mood, for the first time in a long time, he couldn’t bear to spoil it. The blond had been playing around with all of the cast members, not just Hongbin, so it wasn’t as though he’d had any alone time with him to have a serious talk…at least that was his excuse for that particular day. The next day, Ken had sent him a few cute texts while he was at work. He didn’t respond, because he was at work, of course. He sent a few generic responses after his shift ended, so Ken wouldn’t think he was ignoring him, but he wasn’t about to ‘break up’ over text. Only complete assholes did that, but then that night, Ken wasn’t at rehearsal. Jinwoo said that he’d called with an “emergency.”

It was a pleasant surprise, then, that Wonshik had shown up that night. He’d gotten permission from Jinwoo to watch the rehearsal and brought Hongbin flowers. Happily, he’d waited until the end of rehearsal to give them to him, as Hongbin had flushed scarlet and mumbled something about gifts that die, while holding them close and inhaling them when no one was looking. Wonshik’s eyes sparkled, though, and Hongbin knew that he saw right through his act. It was embarrassing, and he would never admit how much he liked it.

As he walked back to Wonshik’s apartment with him, hand-in-hand, he couldn’t help thinking it was very fortunate that Ken wasn’t able to be there. He’d sent a concerned text message, asking after him, and making sure he was alright. He’d gotten a response saying he was okay and he’d be back tomorrow, then nothing more. That was enough to calm Hongbin’s mind. But wow, that would have been so awkward if Ken had been there at the same time as Wonshik. How could he have handled that? It made him more determined to have his conversation with Ken the next day.

He’d slept in Wonshik’s bed that night, while the other man had chivalrously taken the couch. As he lay there in the Downy-scented sheets, though, he had a strange sense of déjà vu. He’d buried his face in the pillows, seeking Wonshik’s scent, his usual comfort-seeking gesture, and realized that, just as he had with Ken, he couldn’t seem to find that Wonshik had any noticeable scent at all. Maybe something was wrong with his nose.

He hadn’t had to borrow clothes in the morning, since he had spares in his dance bag, which was fortunate, as Wonshik was narrower in the shoulders than he was, and the other man had sent him off to work with a breakfast of scrambled eggs and cheese on toast, and a fond pat on the ass that made Hongbin squeak and blush.

All day, he had stressed about how he was going to approach Ken at rehearsal and what he was going to say. After the last few days, he was certain that he was making the right choice, but that wasn’t going to make the conversation any easier. All he had to do was tell Ken the truth. He felt they’d gone too far, too fast. He’d been having conflicted feelings, and he’d spoken about it with Wonshik, who also wanted to see where a relationship may take them. That’s all he had to say. He hoped Ken would understand, and that they could still be friends. That would be the conversation. That was the plan.

That _was_ the plan, but even the best-laid plans can go down in flames when one moment you’re turning the corner into the stage left wing, and the next moment, you’re being thoroughly kissed against the wall. It had only taken Ken a split second to wrap his arms around Hongbin and cradle the back of his head from hitting the brick before his soft, sinful lips were parting his own and his sweet, hot tongue was urging away all his will to speak. Hongbin was so stunned, so lost in how _good_ it felt, it took him several long moments of frantic making out to realize that this wasn’t the person whom he was supposed to kiss. He pushed Ken away, significantly harder than he’d intended.

“Are you playing hard to get today?” Ken asked teasingly, swooping back in.

“No, Ken. Stop. Now,” Hongbin demanded. The other’s brow creased in confusion.

“There’s no one around yet. What’s the matter?” he asked, reaching out to take Hongbin’s hand. “I missed you.”

“I—” Hongbin’s breath caught. He’d missed him, too. The lights backstage were still dim, and the shaft of stagelight filtering in from between the curtains had lit the other man’s face up, playing across his golden hair. He was so beautiful. Something in Hongbin was _longing_ for him, in a way he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Not a sexual sort of longing, except it sort of was, but it was so much more than that; he yearned desperately to be _one_ with Ken again. The strange excitement, the energy that he’d felt when Ken was inside of him, he felt it surging up again. He wanted…oh, fuck.

“I—I can’t,” he stammered, pressing back harder to the wall, wishing he could melt right through it.

Ken took a step forward, reaching for Hongbin’s face.

“Binnie, what’s wrong? Why not? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you…I…” He couldn’t seem to make the words come out. He huffed. It was so frustrating. Ken’s hand had reached his cheek, his thumb caressing his cheekbone. He closed his eyes, wanting to lean into it. Wanting to feel Ken more. He could feel Ken getting closer again; his body’s desperate yearning for closeness. No! He couldn’t do this. He wanted Wonshik. Wonshik.

“W-we made a mistake. I’m seeing someone else,” he blurted.

Ken’s jaw dropped. “You what?” He took a step back, his hand falling away from Hongbin’s face.

“No, I mean, when we—I wasn’t when we…but since then I realized that we shouldn’t have done that. And I’ve been spending so much time with Wonshik, it made me realize that…”

“You’re dating Wonshik.” Ken somehow made it come out as a statement, not a question, and Hongbin could somehow see the shutters falling over his eyes, the sweetness fading from them. He suddenly started to laugh. It was completely humorless, that laugh, and unnerving in its intensity. He laughed until tears began to gather in his eyes.

“It fucking figures, you know?” Ken hooted. Hongbin froze, like he was caught in the eyes of a snake. It was like Ken had gone crazy. Nothing about this was even the slightest bit funny. He was still trapped against the wall, with no way of getting away from Ken, should he want to hurt him. And he was looking increasingly outside of his mind the more he laughed. The energy that Hongbin had felt inside drawing him to Ken was now rushing through him at such an amplitude that his hands were beginning to shake, hard.

“He knows that you and I were together, doesn’t he?”

Hongbin nodded, his entire body in tremors. “I told him.”

“Oh, he knew long before that, sweetheart,” Ken said, in a voice far too cold to match the wild grin on his face.

Hongbin shook his head, his teeth chattering. “I-I don’t und-understand.” Then he remembered. “Wait, when we first…you said you knew him, didn’t you?”

“Oh, we knew each other,” Ken said bitterly. “And let me tell you, Beanie, he _hates_ me. He hates me enough, I would think, that he would do just about anything to hurt me. Hates me enough to want to steal away a person I care about.”

“No, he…Wonshik wouldn’t do that,” Hongbin insisted. Wonshik wasn’t the type of person who would go seeking revenge. He wouldn’t want to be with Hongbin just because it would hurt Ken, would he? But then…

Wonshik acted as though he didn’t even know Ken, even though Ken had admitted their acquaintance from the first time Hongbin mentioned his name. Then, Ken disappeared from Hongbin’s apartment immediately after hearing Wonshik’s voice on the phone. That was when Ken disappeared, had hidden from Hongbin for days on end. Then Wonshik showed up at rehearsal yesterday, bearing gifts for Hongbin. If it hadn’t been for Ken’s emergency, their relationship would have been paraded right in front of his face. Did he really know that? Was this all a set up? Hongbin stood, shaking, curled in upon himself. 

“It’s all making sense now, isn’t it?” Ken asked, leaning back against a sawhorse, his arms folded across his chest and legs crossed casually at the ankle. He’d stopped laughing and now, despite his defensive posture, looked like he was going to cry. Hongbin’s heart was longing for him.

“How long?” Ken asked.

Hongbin couldn’t even bring himself to speak.

“ _How long_ , Hongbin?” he demanded, his eyes flashing in anger.

“Since the day we—”

“Fuck you,” Ken choked. “You really went straight to him…right after we….?”

“Ken, I—”

“No. Fuck you, Lee Hongbin. I really cared about you, you know? And all this was to you was, what, some kind of _pity fuck_?…”

A door slammed from the backstage area to the hall. The curtains brushed open.

“Hey guys,” the stage manager greeted them, then froze, stunned by the heavy air of animosity. “Oh, I’m so sorry, did I…”

“I was just leaving,” Ken said. The other man stepped aside.

“But what about rehearsal?” He started to ask.

“I quit!” Ken sang, stepping around him gracefully and heading for the door.

“Wait! Ken! You can’t just quit!” the stage manager protested, starting to follow, but the door slammed behind Ken’s retreating back and when the other man tried it, it wouldn’t open.

Hongbin slid down the wall into a crouch. He took several gasping breaths while the stage manager fought with the door, then flinched as the handle finally gave way and the door opened with a crash. Glasses flying off his face, the stage manager fell to the floor and Hyun Woo and Hyungwon stood outside with dazed expressions.

“What’s going on?” Hyungwon asked.

Hongbin let out a sob and grabbed his bag. “Please let Jinwoo-hyung know that I’m sick and can’t rehearse today,” he begged, jumping off the edge of the stage and running up the center aisle and out the door.

He fled through the main lobby and out into the cold November air. He ran in the direction of Wonshik’s apartment, legs pounding the concrete and pushing annoyed pedestrians out of his way until his lungs were burning from the exertion. He slowed to a walk, gasping for breath, and before he’d even made it to the front of the building, Wonshik was standing outside, barefoot, in nothing but a shirt and boxers, regardless of the chill or the stares of bystanders, gaping at him in amazement, as though he’d somehow known that Hongbin had been on his way and had been waiting for him.

Hongbin glowered into Wonshik’s sleepy brown eyes, dazed with confusion, still shaking from the energy rattling around inside his veins like it were trying to be set loose. He panted, trying to catch his breath, but only succeeding in hyperventilating, then swayed on his feet, falling into Wonshik’s arms.

\---

This connection was draining, Wonshik thought, as he carried Hongbin through the lobby and into the elevator. Humans are such exhaustive, emotional things. He’d been on the phone with his financial advisor, rearranging some investments (because who else was going to pay for all these wayward Watchers and humans and collected riffraff?), when he’d felt Hongbin’s spike in emotion. At first, he thought it might just be because of the rehearsal. When Hongbin was acting, he really put his heart into it, but the more upset he got, the more he began to suspect that it might be because of “Ken.” Come to think of it, having tasted the energy of the other angel, he thought he might be able to feel his upset as well, though he could be mistaken. It felt more like an irritation or an itch rather than an actual emotion. His limitations as a Malakhim could be annoying, especially when dealing with higher angels.

He’d gone to Hongbin’s rehearsal the previous day, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive angel as well as to see his human, but he’d proven more difficult to catch than expected, even with Wonshik waiting until the last possible moment to make his decision. He figured he would have to come up with something a bit more creative if he were going to catch the other celestial off-guard.

As he could feel Hongbin growing more and more upset, he’d grown increasingly flustered. He wanted to go to him, to make sure that everything was alright. But he was worried that, if the other angel were actively trying to avoid him, it might make things worse. He might even take Hongbin, if he felt threatened. He wanted to confront the other when Hongbin wasn’t there, just in case. He tried not to think of what that ‘just in case’ might entail.

He’d tried to continue his phone call, as unfocused and uninterested as he was, until the moment he felt Hongbin’s stress shift to hurt and anger. Hurt and anger towards _him_. That’s when he abruptly hung up on his advisor and had been just about to take off to go find Hongbin, when he felt Hongbin coming to him instead. He blinked downstairs, just as he was, and waited.

When they were safely back in his apartment, he lay the human down on the couch gently. He retrieved a towel and wet it at the sink, washing away the salt of sweat and tears from Hongbin’s face. The cold water seemed to revive Hongbin and he blinked at Wonshik for several moments before coming back to himself. Then, the wave of hurt that washed over him nearly took Wonshik’s breath away.

“What have I done?” Wonshik whispered, kneeling at his feet.

Hongbin sat up, moving as far away from Wonshik as he could, drawing his knees to his chest.

“Do you know Ken?” he asked.

It wasn’t what he’d expected Hongbin to say, and he shook his head no, immediately.

“I swear, I don’t know anyone named Ken. Hongbin, what is this about?”

Hongbin glared at him. “Tell me the truth, Wonshik. Ken said the very first time that he heard your name, that you two knew each other. Why would he lie? Why would you?”

“I’m not lying, Hongbin. I swear I don’t know anyone by the name of Ken, but if he’s using that as a stage name and his real name is something different, he could be someone that I know. What did he say to you?”

“He said that you hate him and that you’d probably do anything to hurt him, including stealing me away.”

Wonshik was stunned. He didn’t think he had any enemies, save from the demons he’d helped eradicate over the years, but it was usually the Powers who would battle demons. And none of them lived to seek revenge. He shook his head.

“I honestly can’t think of anyone who would think that I hate them.” Except Jaehwan, his subconscious said, but that was impossible. Jaehwan wasn’t in Korea. Jaehwan probably wasn’t even alive. “What does Ken look like?” he asked.

“Tall, thin, blond,” Hongbin said, still with distrust. “Attractive, brown eyes, beautiful lips, great singer,” he supplemented.

While Wonshik hated listening to the human calling someone else beautiful when he’d never said anything remotely close like that in regards to himself, he couldn’t imagine who it might be.

“I swear to you, Hongbin, I don’t know who he is.” He laid his hand atop Hongbin’s, where it rested wrapped around his knee. He let his genuine feelings of confusion and hurt flood into the human. It would increase their connection, which, he felt, was dangerous, but Hongbin was obviously hurting and he wanted to stop that hurt in any way he could. This was the only way – to let him see that Wonshik was being honest.

“An ex, maybe?” Hongbin prompted, seeming less angry than before.

“My ex….” Wonshik said, his eyes falling to the floor. “My ex is no longer here.”

“Like, he's dead?” Hongbin blanched. Wonshik almost laughed at his impolite candor.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, a tremble in his voice that he did not intend. “It’s possible. Though when he left, we were in France. He left me for an American. So he could be somewhere over there now. I haven’t heard from him in years.”

“So, Ken’s not your ex?”

“Definitely not,” Wonshik shook his head. “While he was tall and thin, he certainly wasn’t blond. His name was…Jaehwan.”

He hadn’t ever intended on telling Hongbin about Jaehwan. His name fell from his lips at nearly a whisper, so hard was it to speak aloud. He could probably count the number of times he’d spoken it on one hand, since Jaehwan had left.

“Will you tell me about him?” Hongbin asked. The question was hesitant, but he’d allowed his knees to fall from his chest. His hand was still beneath Wonshik’s, and he hadn’t tried to pull away. That seemed a good sign, a sign that he believed that Wonshik was telling the truth.

Wonshik didn’t want to talk about Jaehwan. Not at all. Not ever again. He hadn’t told anyone what happened, except Taekwoon, and by the time he’d seen Sanghyuk again, after it happened, he already knew. He’d probably known it was going to happen before it did, but Wonshik could never ask him the truth of that. He wouldn’t be able to take the hurt that he hadn’t been warned, even when it was not Sanghyuk’s place to do so. It was better that he didn’t know.

Wonshik nodded reluctantly and climbed onto the couch. Hongbin moved closer to him, letting their legs tangle together. It was a peace offering. Wonshik accepted. He closed his eyes as he spoke.

“Jaehwan and I, we were each other’s first and only. We met when we were very young, still trying to learn who we were, and what we would do with our lives. The way every young person does,” he said, unsure. Hongbin nodded, so he continued. “He was a little bit older, and I looked up to him. We were very close friends and we did nearly everything together. He comes from a higher, more powerful…background…than I do, so it was looked down upon that he should even spend time with me, but even despite that, even though we were complete opposites in every way, he never cared. And one day, in front of the others, all his peers who disapproved, he kissed me. It had never even occurred to me that we should do such a thing. But it felt…so right…that I kissed him back, and then, the next thing I knew, we were…together in a completely different way.”

“You can tell me,” Hongbin said. “I won’t get jealous.”

“I was so in love,” Wonshik whispered. “ _So_ in love. I wanted everything with him, all of my life, all of my existence. And when he asked me to…to be inside him…he was so good to me. I never knew it could be like that. He made me feel so powerful, yet so taken care-of. Everything about him terrified me. I knew he could absolutely destroy me, but he was just so good. I felt that he never would. So sweet. So kind. He made me laugh. He was my every reason to smile. He…we were together for years. It never crossed my mind that he was capable of betrayal.”

“He cheated on you?” Hongbin whispered. Wonshik was choking back his pain, barely, but almost chuckled at how the human was so caught up in his story, he looked as though he were going to cry, too.

“He did, yes,” Wonshik said. “As I said, we were in Paris together. He met an American soldier, he was stationed there, one night when he was out dancing. I’d had something else to do. He begged me to come with him, but I said my work was more important than dancing. I guess he thought it was more important than him. He went to bed with him, and confessed to me what he’d done, the next morning. We fought. We both cried. I called him…horrible things. And when he walked out the door, he went back to him, Henry, the other man. It was only two weeks later, he told me that he loved him, and I walked away. I never saw him again.”

The tears had finally started to fall. Just talking about this was bringing up all the memories, all the thousands of years of memories, overwhelming him. There were just too many. Beautiful memories, of music and dancing, laughter and tears, soft caresses and the scrape of teeth on tender skin, and he couldn’t bear the pain of it all. 

Perhaps you can only really hate the one that you truly love, because Wonshik could feel the devastating love in equal measure with the crushing hate in his soul. He felt like this every time he thought about Jaehwan, every time he remembered.

The jolts of the couch cushion beneath him brought him back into his body and he suddenly realized that Hongbin was sobbing, choking. His fingers were being crushed in the boy’s grip and their connection was strong, so strong. He didn’t realize that the poor child was receiving all of the years of built-up pain and despair Wonshik had been channeling through the connection of their linked souls. And he felt Hongbin’s tragedies in return: the feelings of abandonment, of being cheated, betrayed, of feeling unwanted. He didn’t know how the human’s fragile mind had even coped this far.

“Oh, Hongbin,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

He pulled the human into him and cradled him against his chest, and they both wept until both Hongbin’s hair and Wonshik’s shirt were drenched with tears. Slowly, they both calmed, and Wonshik crooned softly to his human until they were breathing steadily, their hearts beating together. Hongbin seemed to sleep a little, pressed against Wonshik’s heart, and the Malakhim couldn’t help the slow, steady stream of tears that continued to flow from his waterlines.

Could the other angel feel their pain? Both of them? This strange, elusive angel who knew Wonshik so well he didn’t dare be seen…

He wracked his brain, searching his memories for who could possibly despise him so much as to want to turn his precious Hongbin against him. He rarely encountered higher angels, not since he and Jaehwan were together, and he never thought to have done anything to garner such animosity. By the time Hongbin stirred in his embrace, he’d grown no closer to revealing any kind of answer to the riddle.

The only one he could think of that might hate him, or believe that they’d earned his hatred, was Jaehwan. But that was impossible. It was completely impossible. If Jaehwan were here, he’d _feel_ him. For thousands of years, they’d had such an open connection, touching each other’s thoughts was second nature. He couldn’t shield himself from Wonshik, could he? Any time he used his powers, Wonshik would have been able to feel it. And why would he ever be blond? Jaehwan _loved_ the way he looked – he preened like a peacock. He’d never change any aspect of his appearance, would he? He could, of course, all of them could, but why would he?

No, if it were Jaehwan, he’d know it. He would know right away. He…

Hongbin touched Wonshik’s face and turned it gently so their eyes met.

“You’re…different,” Hongbin said. “You’re not like other people.”

Wonshik didn’t say anything in response. What was there to say? Hongbin appeared pensive.

“I don’t know what I felt just now. And I’m not going to ask. But thank you for being honest with me. I know how much it hurt you, because I felt it, too.” Wonshik nodded, closing his eyes and laying his cheek in Hongbin’s cupped hand.

“Can I kiss you, Wonshik?”

“When we kiss for the first time, I don’t want you to be sad,” Wonshik whispered.

“I’m not sad. I'm with you.”

And when Hongbin’s lips touched his, Wonshik felt like his heart could burst. He’d never thought that anyone could make him feel like this ever again. Especially not a human.

Humans were fragile. Humans were short-lived. Humans were death to the angels who fell for them.

And for the first time, Wonshik couldn’t bring himself to care.

The kiss was sweet, gentle, a little bit salty from their tears, but it tasted good. And when Hongbin’s hands slid up the plane of his chest to settle on his shoulders, and his sweet tongue parted Wonshik’s lips, he let his mouth fall open with a sigh. It was so different, so different from anything he’d felt before. It was softer, more relaxed. He let Hongbin control the kiss, and the human kept it slow. It felt meaningful. And when Wonshik’s hands rested on Hongbin’s hips, drawing him near, letting their chests press together, he felt that hollow place within his chest start to fill. It was full of Hongbin.

And he sent up a grateful prayer to God for allowing him to begin to _feel_ again, after all this time.

To feel a kind of love that didn’t hurt.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Taekwoon thinks too much
> 
> WARNING: references to physical abuse  
> (It's mild, but I'd rather be safe than sorry when providing trigger warnings)

After Hakyeon and Taekwoon ate their dinner, (an entertaining affair, as Taekwoon discovered the joys of carbonated beverages and could not stop giggling as the Coca-Cola tickled his nose), they relocated back to the living room. Hakyeon had turned the lights down, replacing it with candles instead, and turned the television on low. Neither of them harbored any intention of watching it, and it was only a matter of moments before Hakyeon lay on the couch with his body draped over Taekwoon’s, on his back, propped up by a pile of throw pillows. They kissed lazily, their hands moving slowly, caressing softly over each other’s clothing. It was very cozy, as the snow had begun falling outside, and they were cuddled close, safe and warm and together.

Hakyeon raised his head up slightly, looking down at the angel adoringly. He bit down on his lower lip contemplatively as he played with Taekwoon’s hair.

“Why is your hair white?”

Taekwoon glanced upward, as though he’d be able to see his hair, then reached up to finger the strands. His fingertips brushed against Hakyeon’s. It was an odd question.

“Is it not supposed to be?”

“No, I like it. I was just curious. I’d never seen that color before. Not as a natural color, anyway. At first, I thought you dyed it.”

“I’ve never used hair dye. I never really thought much about the way I look. Would you prefer it to look different?”

“No, of course not. I was just curious.”

Taekwoon looked like he was concentrating for a brief moment, then his hair faded from white, to gray, to black. He looked at Hakyeon questioningly. “Is that better?” Hakyeon’s jaw dropped.

“You said you didn’t have powers.”

Taekwoon scoffed. “I said I didn’t have superpowers. Like, throwing fireballs from my hands, or things that you would see in the movies. Celestials exist on many planes of existence; my appearance can change at will. That’s how I can make my wings come and go. They’re just an illusion anyway. All physical matter is.” He paused. “Did I break you again?”

Hakyeon was staring with his mouth still open. Taekwoon tapped lightly beneath his chin to close his jaw. Hakyeon snapped it closed with a click.

“Should I change something else?” he asked. The human didn’t respond.

Taekwoon smiled, changing his eyes from brown to green to blue to gray, then he morphed his features completely, changing into an exact duplicate of actor Ahn Jae-hyun, currently striding across their TV screen.

“Oh my God, stop that!” Hakyeon shrieked, tumbling off his body and backwards onto the couch between his legs. Taekwoon immediately changed back to his usual appearance, trying not to laugh at Hakyeon’s owlish expression.

“Sorry, I thought you’d find it funny.”

“It was scary. Your face looked like it was melting.”

“I won’t do it anymore.”

“Aish, that was too weird.” Hakyeon hesitated, then asked with suspicion, “What else can you do?”

Taekwoon had to think about it. What could he do that humans couldn’t?

“Well,” he pondered aloud. “When I have my wings out, I can fly. I can move between dimensions. I don’t need to eat or sleep or drink or breathe.”

“Wait, what?”

“In this body, my heart beats, but my blood is different from yours,” he explained. “It’s gold in color. Wonshik says it’s different because it doesn’t need to be oxygenated through breath, and the cells don’t regenerate or die; we already have everything we need in it to survive. But, like I said before, my physical body isn’t real. Technically, neither is yours, though you can’t travel beyond it yet. I mean, hmm, maybe this is coming out wrong. It’s real, it exists in this plane, but we, our souls, may exist outside our bodies, as well. No? Anyway, it’s hard to explain. And then you already know I can make myself invisible, although that’s done exactly the same way as changing the way I look, so that’s not really a different thing. I don’t really disappear, I keep my body mass, you can just see right through it. And since we’ve bonded, if you allow me, I can feel the things you are feeling, or you could give me your thoughts.”

“What, like, mind-reading?”

“Not exactly. I couldn’t just go poking around, but I could receive an image of something that you wanted to show me. Though, through our bond, you can do that, too, so it’s not related to me, specifically.”

“How did we bond?” Hakyeon asked curiously. “Through our feelings, or?”

“Through touch,” Taekwoon said, taking The Dancer’s hand in his. “I’ve never touched any human but you. I’d only ever touched Wonshik and Jaehwan before.”

“Jaehwan?”

“You know him as Ken,” Taekwoon said, bored. Hakyeon’s eyes were narrowed. It seemed he wasn’t done with the topic of Jaehwan/Ken yet, but he was still more interested in the bond.

“And when I touched you, we bonded?”

“Yes.”

Hakyeon made a flippant hand motion and raised his eyebrow, demanding elaboration.

“Okay, every living thing is made of energy, right?” Taekwoon asked.

“Yeah, that seems right,” Hakyeon agreed.

“They call it New Age nowadays, but humans have known for centuries about the vibrations of crystals and the force of life in the foods they eat, and the song of the earth as it moves. You feel strange when you touch me because my energy is more than of this Earth. I am a different form of being. I exist on more than one plane. Technically, you do, too, but you cannot access it yet.”

“Only when I die.”

“Exactly.” Taekwoon did not like to think about that. “When you first touched me, our energies merged. You took mine, I took yours. We became a part of each other. You also could feel every other angel I’ve touched, for the same reason. When we touched, we took on a part of each other’s energies, and now you have taken that energy, too.”

“So, I can feel them, they can feel me.”

“If they know what to look for, yes.”

“You’re telling me I’m going to be soul-bound to Ken forever?” he moaned.

Taekwoon nodded solemnly. “In theory, yes, although, it’s odd. I don’t feel him anymore, myself. It’s like he’s shielded himself. I thought he was dead for a very long time.”

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“I have a theory, but I haven’t confirmed it with Jaehwan. It’s quite personal and I don’t believe he wishes to speak of it.” Hakyeon seemed to accept this, laying his head down on Taekwoon’s chest. The angel started caressing The Dancer’s hip soothingly.

“You said there is a heaven. Does that mean God is real?”

“Yes.” Taekwoon looked bewildered that there should even be a question of it. “But not as you’re taught in church. All religions are right. All religions are wrong,” he said, nonsensically. “God, as you think of Him, isn’t a giant in the clouds; He is an energy. Though He can take corporeal form if He chooses,” he added pensively. “He resides in all things and exists in all planes at once. So, is there a God? Yes, of course, and no, of course not. He exists, without a doubt, but as humans imagine Him, no, not at all.”

The Dancer didn’t really seem to understand, but also didn’t seem to require any more information than a ‘yes’ on the matter. He lay still, listening to Taekwoon’s heartbeat for a while. The angel just zoned out.

“Is talking about it really that bad?” Hakyeon asked, finally, lifting his head to examine Taekwoon’s face. 

Taekwoon continued his absent-minded petting over the curve of The Dancer’s hip. He hummed questioningly, not having been paying attention to the question.

“Explaining about what you are…is talking about it really horrible?”

“No, it isn’t horrible. I was just very anxious.” Taekwoon frowned, his hand falling to the edge of the sofa. He slid up to a seated position, to see Hakyeon better. “I didn’t think you could accept me; I didn’t believe it was possible. Before now, before you, I never spoke to a human before. Not once. Not ever.”

“How can that be?” Hakyeon asked, skootching closer, his legs still crossed beneath him.

“Watchers aren’t supposed to Interfere in humans’ lives. We aren’t supposed to be seen. We must remain neutral, never interact, always just Watch.

“If it weren’t for me, would you still be a Watcher?”

Taekwoon had no doubt at all. “Yes,” he replied.

“Do you regret it?”

The human’s face was vulnerable, open, sincere. He wasn’t asking in a plea for attention, but because he genuinely wanted to know the answer. Taekwoon took both of The Dancer’s hands in his own.

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything,” he said. “I would never regret a single moment we spent together. You’re worth…falling for.”

When the words came out, Taekwoon had meant ‘falling’ in love, but after they were spoken, he realized the second, deeper meaning. And it also fit. A chill ran down his spine, as Hakyeon leaned in to kiss him again.

As their lips touched and Taekwoon sighed softly into the heat of the human’s mouth, he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that it was only a matter of time. He was too far gone already. He’d disregarded everything Wonshik and Sanghyuk had asked of him and there was no going back now. He couldn’t stop this. He wouldn’t stop this. The only heaven he needed was right there in Hakyeon’s arms. And so he’d fall. He’d fall a thousand times over, if it meant one more second in The Dancer’s embrace.

And on that last lost, desperate thought, he wrapped his own arms tight around Hakyeon, dragging him back onto his body, and The Dancer whined, rolling his hips against Taekwoon’s. The angel hooked his leg around the human’s thigh, pulling him closer, then slid his hand between their bodies, gently fondling the hardness between The Dancer’s legs. He keened and whimpered into the angel’s touch.

“I want you,” Hakyeon whispered, stopping his movement. “I want you so badly. But I don’t have what we need.”

“What do we need?” Taekwoon asked, his brain fuzzy from wanting. Hakyeon flushed but didn’t answer. His breath was coming in little puffs and Taekwoon watched as a drop of sweat ran down the length of The Dancer’s neck. He kissed it away. The salt of his skin tasted so good.

“Are you doing anything Saturday?” Hakyeon asked. Taekwoon almost wanted to laugh. What an odd change of topic.

“No,” he responded, still gently stroking the human’s erection. Hakyeon spoke between soft gasps for breath and pressed his forehead against the angel’s shoulder. It muffled his voice a bit, but Taekwoon could still understand his words.

“Then tomorrow, I can go shopping in the afternoon,” he panted. “Come to rehearsal with me tomorrow night? Then we can come home, and…and then we’d have all day Saturday together…”

He raised his head back up. The human’s eyes were dark, his pupils large and liquid in their spheres. Taekwoon felt as though the human could look straight inside of him. The angel’s heart was beating fast and he was breathing hard. He stopped his ministrations, wanting to be sure, and brought both his hands to The Dancer’s waist. Was Hakyeon suggesting…?

“Are we going to….?” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Do you want to?” Hakyeon asked in return, pressing their hips together again. Taekwoon winced from the pressure. The human looked a little afraid. Almost as afraid as Taekwoon felt.

Taekwoon pressed his hand to the side of Hakyeon’s face, and he allowed his feelings of love and desire and fear and desperate need to flow through him. The human shuddered, letting out a moan. Suddenly Taekwoon could feel Hakyeon’s feelings as well. He’d figured out how to project, and the sensation was completely overwhelming. The human’s pounding heart and lust-crazed hormones seemed to combine with Taekwoon’s own yearning and all he could do was gasp. The two rutted against each other for a moment, kissing hard, lost in the hunger for each other’s body until they eventually had to slow, so sensitive it was almost painful.

Hakyeon pressed his lips to the angel’s ear. “The next time we’re like this,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to stop.” Gooseflesh raised up all over Taekwoon’s skin and he whimpered.

\---

The following evening found Taekwoon happily sitting in the auditorium watching Hakyeon get fitted for his costume, while several of his castmates were onstage rehearsing a scene. He let his mind wander as he enjoyed the controlled chaos of the theatre. It was reminiscent of when he Watched. This certainly wasn’t the first theatre he’d been in, not even during a rehearsal period, since he used to sometimes go and observe Jaehwan.

And speaking of Jaehwan…he had been an interesting sight to see when they’d first arrived at the space, because as they walked through the auditorium doors, they entered to see Jaehwan on his knees, bowing to their director and begging to be forgiven. He overheard a bit later what it was about, as the cast engaged in the inevitable gossip. (Apparently, he and Hakyeon’s friend Hongbin had an argument and Jaehwan had walked out, saying he wasn’t going to perform.) They backed out of the doors to give them privacy, and while Hakyeon paced nervously and stopped other arrivals from entering the theatre, Taekwoon couldn’t help but overhear bits and pieces of the discussion about professionalism and apologizing to Jaehwan’s peers. He seemed contrite, and after the rehearsal began, the other angel had approached each of his castmates quietly in turn, bowed, and apologized for his behavior until he’d spoken to everyone there.

Taekwoon had rarely seen Jaehwan act so mature, especially around humans. He must genuinely feel sorry, or at least, genuinely care about this show. He was currently sitting several rows ahead in the auditorium, next to Hongbin. They weren’t speaking, and they weren’t looking at each other, but their arms were pressed together where they sat, and neither was moving. So that seemed to be a good sign.

His eyes drifted back over to Hakyeon. He’d gotten pinned into the suit he’d be wearing for his performance. Taekwoon cocked his head, considering. The blue schoolboy uniform, complete with shiny black shoes and white knee socks really wasn’t too far off from the real thing, from the Europe of 150 years ago. His Dancer would give him a wink or a cheerful wave every once in a while, just acknowledging that he was there, and it was nice. He still felt like he was Watching sometimes and having those little smiles or gestures to make him feel wanted and _seen_ was once of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him. It felt good to know he wasn’t forgotten.

Voices from the stage drew his attention.

> _“The upper grade, as we know, will hold only sixty. I hardly think we can promote sixty-one.”_
> 
> _“Hardly, Herr Knochenbruch. But, let us look to the finals ahead.”_
> 
> _“Yes?”_
> 
> _“Remember, it is I who shall be marking them.”_
> 
> _“Then I am assured the good name of our school is secure.”_

The actors onstage, whom Taekwoon had heard referred to as Ji Woo and Jaeho, were performing a scene in which the adults decide to fail a student who had actually passed, just for the sake of improving their own reputation. He found it a fascinating bit of theatrical storytelling that every adult the “children” in the show encountered were played by the same two actors, one male, one female. It reminded him a bit of how he used to feel, how many angels felt, that each human was essentially the same.

When Taekwoon had first been created, he really hadn’t cared about humans, as a general rule. He was made to Watch, and that is what he did, with the appropriate level of distance and disinterest. He was neutral. He knew right from wrong in accordance with God’s commandments, however, it was not his place to distinguish who or what he Watched, or whether others had sinned.

He was simply there as a pair of eyes, a vessel to be used. Humans collectively lived such a short time and most had such similar lives, it was often difficult to distinguish one from another. After years of Watching, however, Taekwoon found himself lingering more on certain particular humans, wondering why they did the things they did. He listened to their words, watched their interactions with others, and began to find that humans were just as varied and interesting as celestials, sometimes more so, because of the ways they chose to express themselves, and the things they would create.

How fascinating the human mind was, to make works of art – to take only one’s vision and a bit of clay, or quill, or paint, and create a masterpiece from nothing. What must it feel like to conjure an image in one’s imagination and be able to bring that dream image to physical fruition. It was a God-like gift. He wished he could experience being in the human mind, just once, to see what it was like, not just to create, but to _need_ to create.

And then there were the storytellers: writers, actors, singers, dancers, performers of all kinds…creating works of art with their words and their bodies and their instruments. It was nothing short of a miracle. With their gifts, they could move the strongest man to laugh or cry. They wove tales of heroes, villains, beauty, pain, the rise and fall of empires, and shared them with each other, partaking in a communion of what it meant to be human.

Taekwoon wondered many times over the years what it would feel like to be human, how it would feel to know your days have a definitive end. Perhaps that’s why a human life is so beautiful, so precious… time is so much more precious when you know you are doomed.

At first, this was a lovely thought: to know that there was an ending to each story, but then Taekwoon remembered that his own story, unlike Hakyeon’s, did not have an ending. Only an eternity of pain. Wonshik’s words echoed in Taekwoon’s head at this morbid thought: “You have to realize how this is all going to end, Taekwoon. Hakyeon is going to grow old. He’s going to grow old and die, and you won’t. You’ll just keep living, on and on; you’ll lose him and it will break you.”

Taekwoon really didn’t want to think about things like that. He couldn’t even imagine it. Couldn’t bear it. The angel’s eyes wandered worryingly back over to his human, who was carefully being assisted out of his pinned coat by the costume designer. When it was safely removed from his person without any pin-damage, he pulled the white shirt that had lay beneath, over his head as well. Taekwoon whimpered softly, every other thought swept cleanly from his brain.

The Dancer with his shirt off was indescribably gorgeous, even from such a distance. His back was smooth and flawless, the long lines of muscle and bone, graceful and delicate. Taekwoon sighed at the memory of how it felt to run his hand lightly over that skin. Hakyeon reached for the teeshirt laying across the seat at his side, revealing a hint of his chest and the angel shuddered at the small glimpse he received of a toned, tan belly and peaked brown nipple.

Usually, nudity didn’t affect him in any way. Angels were often nude amongst each other and he didn’t mind being seen as such. There’s a reason why angels were frequently painted in a state of undress. Clothes were an unnecessary hassle.

But the sight of The Dancer’s body left his mouth dry and his hands shaking.

At whatever tiny sound of yearning Taekwoon had made, Jaehwan glanced over his shoulder, followed his gaze, then gave Taekwoon a knowing look. That smirk was annoying and more than once over the years, Taekwoon had the desire to slap it right off his friend’s face. He certainly did now. The Malakhim struggled to resist the urge to stick his tongue out at the Power like a child. Jaehwan would enjoy that too much. As it was, after the meeting they’d had the week Taekwoon was avoiding speaking with Hakyeon, Jaehwan already knew too much. And now, Hakyeon knew that Jaehwan knew too much. By God and all the saints, this was so embarrassing.

That afternoon, before rehearsal, Taekwoon had accompanied Hakyeon on his shopping expedition. In addition to the foods, paper products, and other such human provisions as Hakyeon deemed necessary, they’d traveled down an aisle with hygiene products. Taekwoon vaguely recognized some of the brand names from advertisements and was humming a television jingle for a particular shampoo when he noticed Hakyeon comparing labels on two different products. They were small bottles of clear liquid, and when he further examined them, the color drained from his face: “Personal lubricant.” Stubbornly avoiding eye contact, the angel shuffled closer to a markedly different type of product and picked up a box at random, in order to avoid any conversation on the item Hakyeon just placed in the cart.

“I don’t think you need any of those,” Hakyeon said casually, hiding his smile with one hand, though Taekwoon could distinctly see the rounded apples of his cheeks indicating a grin. He looked at the small blue box he’d picked up: “tampons.” He felt like he was going to die.

“Should I buy condoms?” Hakyeon asked, humming to himself thoughtfully. “I was tested last week, if you have any concerns.”

That was the last straw. Taekwoon sank into a crouch in the center of the aisle, next to the shopping cart, showing only the top of his head, hiding his face. Hakyeon did not say anything but waited calmly for him to resurface.

“It’s up to you,” Taekwoon finally said, after he’d collected himself enough to speak. “Celestials cannot catch or carry human diseases.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Jaehwan gave me a…pep talk.”

Hakyeon raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “A pep talk?”

“A…birds and bugs talk…” Taekwoon attempted to clarify.

“Birds and…oh, the birds and the bees?” Hakyeon laughed. “You’re so cute. He seems as though he’d be an interesting teacher. Very enthusiastic.”

“You have no idea,” said Taekwoon darkly.

His cheeks still felt unbearably hot whenever he thought about it. How mortifying. Everything about sex was embarrassing to speak about, but strangely, when he and his dancer were alone, and Hakyeon was pressed against him so tight, he never felt shy.

At that moment, The Dancer sat down beside him, a grim expression on his face.

“What’s the matter?” Taekwoon asked, the heat fading from his cheeks at the way Hakyeon’s disapproval was radiating from him.

“Nothing,” he said, leaning his head on Taekwoon’s shoulder with a huff.

“I can feel you. You’re upset. Please tell me,” the angel asked. Hakyeon sighed and gave a subtle gesture toward Hongbin and Jaehwan.

“They’re holding hands,” he whispered into Taekwoon’s ear. “Hongbin is dating Wonshik. I don’t know what’s going on, or what he’s thinking, but I don’t like it. He’s going to get hurt, and he’s going to hurt them in the process.”

Taekwoon frowned. That wasn’t good. Could they just be holding hands in a friendly manner? Actually, no, probably not. Not with Jaehwan. He didn’t really enjoy touching except with people he was very close to. So, the question was, how close were they?

Taekwoon examined Hongbin closely. He reached out, feeling for Jaehwan’s energy. He couldn’t feel it coming from Jaehwan…he never could anymore, but he did feel it in Hongbin. His brow furrowed, and he took Hakyeon’s hand. Into his mind, he asked, “ _Did you know that they had sex together?_ ”

Hakyeon’s eyes popped open and he squeezed Taekwoon’s hand hard. Two thoughts immediately flew into Taekwoon’s head in return: 1. _They what??_ and 2. _How did you do that?_

 _Through the bond. It will likely only work when we’re touching,_ Taekwoon explained. _I actually wasn’t sure if it would work, but_ a _s our combined energy gets stronger, we can feel and read each other more._ He sighed aloud. _As for the rest,_ _I can feel strong celestial energy in Hongbin. Jaehwan, Ken, is significantly more powerful than Wonshik, and Hongbin has far more energy within him than could be shared by simple contact, even over an extended period. I know he has not been with Wonshik in that way. It was definitely Jaehwan._

_You can’t tell whose energy it is?_

_No, energy is just energy. And these days I can’t feel Jaehwan at all. He has himself blocked off from me somehow. Probably because he didn’t want to be found. I can only feel it in Hongbin because he can’t block it. In truth, he probably doesn’t even know he has it._

_Are you going to tell Wonshik?_ The Dancer’s eyes were wide.

“Okay, Hakyeon, Eun Ji, you’re up. Everyone else, after you’ve had your costume fitting, you’re free to go,” Jinwoo announced.

Hakyeon stood and headed up towards the stage. He gave Hongbin a long look as he passed. The other boy didn’t seem to notice, as he had his head inclined toward Jaehwan’s and they were speaking to each other in undertones. Taekwoon focused on the actors, so as not to eavesdrop. He really didn’t want to know.

Wonshik would already be aware that Hongbin had been intimate with another celestial. He didn’t know if they’d had a discussion about it or not, but it also wasn’t his place to ask.

But he knew he was going to have to tell Wonshik about Jaehwan sooner or later, because he was going to want to see Hongbin perform in the show, and he would see Jaehwan then, no matter what, and know that Taekwoon had been keeping it from him. But Taekwoon also knew he was going to put off that conversation as long as possible. He was a bad friend for keeping it to himself, but he really couldn’t stand the thought of being the one to put Wonshik through such pain. Again. And even though he knew that their meeting had likely been coincidental, or otherwise God-driven, he felt quite bitter towards Jaehwan for putting him into the situation of having to pick up the broken pieces of Wonshik. Again.

“I need you both to remember that this is a safe space,” Jinwoo said. “I saved the blocking of these scenes for when there were fewer people around if you are uncomfortable with anything at all, you can tell us immediately. You need to trust each other to ensure that nobody gets hurt, okay? We’ll run scene eight first, just miming the action. We’ll have the fight choreographer with us Monday to work with the switch.”

Hakyeon and Eun Ji nodded, glancing at each other, then turned their eyes back to the director.

Taekwoon had forgotten about this. Martha, one of the teenage girls in the show is abused by her father, and her friend Wendla, having never been struck, goes to Melchior and asks him to hit her, wanting to be able to know how it feels. When he’d first read the script, Taekwoon had kind of rolled his eyes at such ridiculous human nonsense, but now, knowing what he knew about The Dancer and his former lover, he found himself afraid for Hakyeon. How was he going to be able to put himself into the role of the person who goes too far and strikes someone they love too hard. They began.

“ _You know...I've never been beaten. Not once. I can't even imagine it. It must be just awful_.” Eun Ji said, angling herself toward Hakyeon. He replied, “ _I don't believe anyone is ever better for it_.” She frowned. “ _I've tried hitting myself-to find out how it feels, really, inside._ ”

Taekwoon started to wish he didn’t have to watch this scene. It was obviously uncomfortable for Hakyeon. Of course, that seemed to help with characterization, too. His character didn’t want to do it, either. He tried to distract himself. The other sensitive scene, he suspected, was the sex scene between Melchior and Wendla. He might have to step outside for that one. He knew Hakyeon loved only him, at least, he believed he did, but he still didn’t want to have to see him kissing someone else while he’s still Hakyeon, and not the character.

“ _On my legs, then_ ,” the girl said, miming the raising of her skirt. Hakyeon looked horrified and angry. “ _Wendla!_ ”

“ _Come on. Please_ ,” she begged. Hakyeon’s eyes flashed. “ _I'll teach you to say "Please_ "...” He raised his arm and mimed striking her hard with a switch.

Taekwoon could feel Hakyeon’s unease, all the way from the middle of the auditorium.

Jinwoo called, “Cut.” He stood up and approached the stage. “Hakyeon, are you okay?”

Hakyeon took several deep breaths. The actress with him had cocked her head to the side and was watching him closely.

“I’m okay,” he said. “Can we start over?”

Jinwoo nodded and stepped back from the stage, brushing his light brown hair back from his eyes. “Take it from the top.”

They recreated the scene, this time making it past that point with Hakyeon handling himself well. Taekwoon let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

Hakyeon lashed out at the girl. “ _How's that?_ ” he asked, as Melchior, breathing hard. “ _Nothing_ ,” Eun Ji said with a wheedling lilt to her voice. Hakyeon mimed striking her again, harder. “ _And that?_ ” The girl’s face flinched, turned away from him, towards the audience, so his character couldn’t see how much pain she was in. “ _Nothing_ ,” she antagonized him.

Hakyeon had tears in his eyes now and Taekwoon clutched the back of the seat in front of him. 

“ _You bitch. I'll beat the hell out of you_!” Hakyeon shouted, beginning to mime the action of beating the girl, but as Eun Ji, as Wendla, began to weep, Hakyeon’s tears were falling for real. He fell back, gasping for breath, and Eun Ji stood as Jinwoo yelled “cut,” but Hakyeon was down on his hands and knees, beginning to hyperventilate.

Taekwoon was on stage faster than even Eun Ji could approach Hakyeon.

“Stand back, please,” he said, reaching for Hakyeon, who panicked.

“Don’t…don’t touch me,” he begged, gasping, and choking on his tears.

Taekwoon laid his hand on Hakyeon’s arm, where he wouldn’t feel stifled or closed in, and sent waves of calming energy to him. The human shuddered, falling towards Taekwoon and allowing himself to be gathered into the angel’s arms.

“It’s okay…it’s okay…” Taekwoon murmured, holding him close.

Jinwoo and Eun Ji stayed back as Taekwoon had requested, until Hakyeon had stilled, his breathing slow and even.

The director paced, until Hakyeon stood, brushing off his tearstained cheeks, and bowed.

“I am sorry, Director-nim. I didn’t think I would react that way.”

Taekwoon backed off slowly, moving to re-take his spot in the auditorium. He knew Hakyeon was afraid for his professional reputation now. He could hear it in his thoughts as they were touching. He needed to allow him to take care of this himself, no matter how much he wanted to sweep the human into his arms and fly somewhere safe, where he wouldn’t hurt.

Taekwoon tried to focus elsewhere, but he could still hear some of the conversation between Hakyeon and his director.

“Are you sure you can do this, Hakyeon? Method acting shouldn’t involve post-traumatic stress,” Jinwoo quipped, attempting to lighten the mood, poorly.

Hakyeon nodded. “I mean it, it was just doing it for the first time. I know what to expect now. I can handle it.”

Jinwoo nodded. “Alright, I’ll take you at your word. Going forward, if you need a break, just tell me. We can take the time you need. I don’t want this to harm you in any way. I want you to feel safe here. Both of you,” he said, assuring Eun Ji. She nodded. “But I think we should stop for the night. Why don’t you take a break, re-collect yourself, and we can perhaps get together for a few hours on Sunday instead?”

“I’m available,” Eun Ji said.

“Me, too,” Hakyeon agreed.

“Alright, I’ll email you with the details. For now, sleep on it.”

And with that, the rehearsal ended. About fifteen minutes later, Hakyeon and Taekwoon were walking home.

“I feel awful,” Hakyeon said. Taekwoon could feel it. The sadness and humiliation were swimming throughout his energy and carved into the lines of his beautiful face. He stopped and looked up into Taekwoon’s eyes. “I feel like a failure.”

The angel kissed his lips, very gently. He smiled at The Dancer as he pulled away, just a slight upturning of his lips.

“Tell me,” Taekwoon said, gently removing the glove from Hakyeon’s right hand and enclosing it in his own.

They walked slowly, not saying a word. From Hakyeon’s thoughts, the angel took in Hakyeon’s feelings of bitter disappointment in not performing his job to the best of his abilities. He was embarrassed that he’d wept in front of his peers, people he admired. He was afraid for his future, that he would not be seen as professional. And Taekwoon clenched his jaw as the memories of Caleb were drawn to the surface. They were horrible things, tinged with red and black, anger and blood and fear and loneliness. Hakyeon had felt that the failure of the relationship was his fault, that he wasn’t good enough. That if he’d tried harder, Caleb wouldn’t have resorted to violence; like Hakyeon had led him to it. He winced at Hakyeon’s memories of desperate fear as he fled the place he’d called home for a year, with only a small bag, trying to protect Ink in his cat carrier, when he was so frightened he couldn’t even protect himself.

They never even got on the subway, they walked all the way back to Hakyeon’s apartment, but by the time they arrived, Hakyeon’s eyes had stopped welling. The human felt significantly better just knowing that someone else knew what he had gone through, that he was understood. And Taekwoon could feel the steely determination in his thoughts, that he wasn’t going to let himself fail again.

“My darling,” Taekwoon murmured, cupping Hakyeon’s face after they’d entered the elevator and the man pressed the button to his floor. “You are so strong, so brave. You did not fail. You succeeded. You made it past this first trial, and from now on, you can continue proving how strong you are, how much better. Your ex did not stop you from doing what you love to do. You are a great artist, and you will show everyone.”

Hakyeon nodded. “I will.”

To the chime of the musical lock, they entered the apartment, and Taekwoon took an easier breath. It felt like coming home.

Hakyeon slung his bag onto the floor and it skidded underneath the table. Then he leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, an embodiment of exhaustion.

“Dearest,” Taekwoon said. “Go take a shower and I will make you some tea.”

Hakyeon smiled without opening his eyes and reached out with both arms, making grabby hands. The angel stepped into his grasp and the human leaned forward to press his face into Taekwoon’s shoulder.

“Have I ever told you you’re the best thing to ever happen to me?”

Taekwoon laughed. “You poor thing. Go. Get clean.”

The human opened his eyes (those pretty, pretty eyes), pecked Taekwoon on the cheek, and obeyed. The angel watched The Dancer’s hips sway as he walked away, then shook his head to clear it, and busied himself with opening cupboards at random until he found the tea Hakyeon liked best. He boiled water, poured it into two mugs, and let the teabags rest. He’d learned that he didn’t have to continuously dunk them, which made the beverage-preparation efforts, well, effortless.

He perched on one of the stools next to the counter. With what had occurred that evening, he felt bad for even letting the thought cross his mind, but he was a little disappointed that they weren’t going to finally be intimate that night. He’d been a nervous wreck all day, with the thought of it playing at the back of his mind, so now, while he was much calmer, knowing that he still had time to wait, he allowed the image replay in his mind of his beautiful love, half-naked from only a few hours before. He was glorious.

“What are you thinking about?” Hakyeon asked, suddenly back in the room.

“What?” Taekwoon jerked. His imagination had indeed been getting away from him.

“You were day dreaming.” Hakyeon smiled. “Where were you?”                       

“Nowhere,” Taekwoon squeaked. His face heated. The Dancer looked stunning with his hair wet, clad in soft pajamas.

“Must have been a nice one,” The Dancer grinned. “Look at you.”

Hakyeon must be feeling much better after his shower. He leaned in and kissed the soft skin beneath Taekwoon’s right ear. “If you don’t want to tell me, why don’t you show me?” Hakyeon asked. Taekwoon’s eyes narrowed.

“Come on, Taekwoonie, won’t you tell me?” He nuzzled more into his neck. “You look so pretty when you’re dreaming.”

The human was obviously enjoying teasing him, but what if…?

Taekwoon spun around on the bar stool, grabbing Hakyeon’s hips and pulling him roughly between his spread knees. The human gasped as the angel pulled him in and kissed him hard.

Hakyeon moaned, deep in his throat, falling easily into Taekwoon’s embrace and draping his arms over the angel’s shoulders, surrendering his body to him.

Taekwoon had never tried to take the lead before, but The Dancer seemed to like it, with the way he was writhing against him, so apparently his instincts were serving him well enough. And, oh God, The Dancer was already hard. What had he been doing in the shower?

He ran his palms back over The Dancer’s tight round ass.

“Oh God, Taekwoon….” Hakyeon panted against his lips. “Do you remember…what I said…about the next time we were like this?”

Taekwoon remembered.

“I won’t stop,” he whispered.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The angel who had once kept silent for hundreds of years began to babble, nonsense pouring from his lips as his lover thrust harder into him, pounding into that sweet spot that felt so good, so good, so good…”
> 
> This chapter is literally 6867 words of fluff and smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting, friends. My grandfather, who was truly my best friend, was on hospice care for about a week before passing away, and it has been a very difficult time for me. I was having trouble focusing on writing (and daily living, tbh), but I wanted to make sure I did the story justice for you (I hope I did so). Thank you for being so patient with me, and for your friendship during this difficult time. 
> 
> During this short break, though, you’ve now gifted me over 220 kudos, and I’m so blown away by the outpouring of kind support for this fic, both here and on Twitter (@lascifvixx). I am honored and grateful for every hit, kudo, comment, bookmark, and sub, and especially when you recommend the story to your friends! As always, I love to chat, so please drop me a line any time, and thanks again for reading.

“Promise me. Promise,” Hakyeon begged, kissing his angel again and again.

“I won’t stop,” Taekwoon repeated, rising from the stool. He slid his hands just beneath the human’s butt and lifted him easily into his arms. The Dancer wrapped his legs around the angel’s waist and his arms hooked around his neck. They stared into each other’s eyes as Taekwoon stood, carrying his lover over to the couch.

“Here?” Hakyeon asked.

“It’s just a little…I’m…” Taekwoon tried to make sense of his thoughts, but the words weren’t coming together. Hakyeon understood anyway. They’d always started out on the couch and things had gotten hot and heavy quickly. It seemed a big step to go straight to the bedroom. This seemed safer.

“We’ll take this in steps,” he agreed. Taekwoon nodded.

Hakyeon skootched back and reclined on the sofa, propped up slightly by the throw pillows, and drew Taekwoon down to him. This was good, the angel thought. This was familiar. He pressed his chest flush against The Dancer’s, feeling his heat, and tucked his knees beneath him so he straddled the human’s thighs. He stroked a hand through Hakyeon’s soft, dark hair, hoping he didn’t notice how bad it was trembling. It seemed he had, though, because his other hand, Hakyeon took in his own, kissing each of Taekwoon’s knuckles, then lowering it down to the side, keeping their fingers threaded together. It helped.

The human was gazing up at him with such reverence, it nearly took his breath away. He was so vulnerable, so trusting. It was a lot for Taekwoon to take in. It felt like a lot of pressure to do things right. He leaned in to kiss Hakyeon’s neck, grazing his lips softly over the smooth skin. The Dancer tilted his head to the side, whispering out a sigh, letting the angel take his time.

He captured The Dancer’s earlobe between his lips, then released it with a soft wet pop. “May I touch you?” Taekwoon whispered, directly against his ear. Both his sweet hesitation and the softness of his breath made the human shiver.

“Of course. You don’t have to ask.”

He took Taekwoon’s hand, the one he’d held in his own, and raised it up to his chest, releasing it, but the angel shook his head. There was only one way they were going to move this along.

“I want to touch your skin. I want to touch you…more.”

“You want me to take my clothes off?” Hakyeon asked.

Taekwoon nodded, burying his face in The Dancer’s shoulder.

He could suddenly feel The Dancer’s nerves. Not nearly so strong as his own, but enough that his hands trembled, too, as he hooked his fingers into the hem of his shirt. Taekwoon leaned back, allowing Hakyeon room to remove the garment. His eyes pointed downward.

In a show of bravado, The Dancer teased, “You were a Watcher… Shouldn’t you be watching?”

Taekwoon let out a soft gasp, and their eyes met, as Hakyeon pulled his shirt over his head. It was more than Taekwoon could have possibly imagined. His eyes lingered on the expanse of soft tan skin, skimming over the soft lines, the dark nipples, the inward curve at the waist and outward curve of the hips. He was gorgeous, and the angel reached out a hand, where it lingered in midair, afraid to touch. Hakyeon set his own hand on the back of it, drawing it back to his chest, just over his heart. His skin was hot, and Taekwoon could feel his heartbeat beneath his hand, strong and reassuring.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Hakyeon murmured.

“You already know,” Taekwoon stammered. He would have to. The link between them was so strong right now.

“I want to hear it.”

“I want you.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon whispered. He leaned back in to his Dancer, kissing softly over Hakyeon’s shoulder once more, who happily sighed from the pleasure it brought.

“Yes, you do. You think too much, love. You already know by instinct. Your body will tell you what to do.”

Taekwoon kissed down The Dancer’s beautiful collarbone to his sternum.

Hakyeon hummed. “More,” he whispered.

The angel ran his lips over to Hakyeon’s nipple and kissed there. The human let out a shaky breath as goosebumps raised over his skin. Taking note, Taekwoon did it again, this time flicking his tongue, and Hakyeon whimpered. “See? You do know what to do.”

He wasn’t sure anymore whether it was really instinct, or the way their thoughts seemed to be bleeding together, but encouraged, the angel dragged the tip of his tongue across The Dancer’s chest to his other nipple and swirled it around the tiny bud. He could feel Hakyeon’s spine arch and the shiver that made his whole body move. The human began to tug at Taekwoon’s shirt, the barrier between their bodies.

Taekwoon was so focused, he didn’t even bother to remove it but blinked it from existence as he continued to kiss across Hakyeon’s hot skin. The human gasped but seemed to be more than willing to accept the supernatural at this point, and he immediately slid his hands up Taekwoon’s back, to slide his fingers over the raised lines of his scapulars. He jolted, the rush of pleasure flooding through his body completely overwhelming. Hakyeon could apparently feel it, too, as he spasmed simultaneously and let out a moan.

“Oh, God. That feels so…”

Taekwoon panted against the soft smooth plane of Hakyeon’s stomach, which rose and fell with his gasping breaths. The Dancer did it again and they both made sounds of a pleasure bordering nearly on pain.

“Oh, it’s so good,” he whimpered. He grasped for Taekwoon’s sides, dragging him upward toward his mouth.

The angel couldn’t resist, and lunged for his lips, capturing them between his own and kissing hard. The temperature in the room seemed to rise as their bodies clashed together. He could feel how hard Hakyeon was, the way his cock twitched beneath his own as their hips ground.

Something in The Dancer’s mind seemed to snap into place and with a surprising show of strength, he rolled their bodies over so that Taekwoon lay beneath. The angel blew whistling breaths between parted lips as his Dancer gazed down at him with eyes like burning coals. He couldn’t look at him. It was too much.

“Do you want to be inside me, Taekwoon?” he whispered, his voice low and husky. The angel jolted, his eyes popping open again and stared into Hakyeon’s face as though he couldn’t possibly be real.

Hakyeon dragged his fingers over Taekwoon’s pale skin, the contrast stark, his other arm wrapped around his ribcage. He slipped that soft hand down his abdomen, past his belly button, and finally coming to rest, cupped between his legs.

“Or do you want me inside you?” he continued, nuzzling into his neck, nipping lightly. “Do you want me on my knees for you? Do you want me to suck your cock, Taekwoon, is that what you want?”

The angel was struck quite dumb. Both could feel the other equally, the wanting, their connection thrumming between them, little thoughts slipping through. They couldn’t hear every thought, of course, but The Dancer’s strong emotions, the desire, even the amusement, he could feel it. Hakyeon was thinking it was probably a little mean, and not just a little unfair, to dirty talk to someone so innocent, but by the way Taekwoon’s cock jolted and grew beneath his palm, he knew full well it was driving him crazy, which in turn, aroused Hakyeon even more. And Taekwoon could feel The Dancer’s nerves beginning to slip away as he took on this persona, this role of the seducer. And he liked it. It made him feel powerful. Taekwoon liked it, too. The human leaned into Taekwoon’s shoulder, drawing the tip of his hot tongue over the angel’s jawline.

“How do you want me, aein?” Hakyeon whispered, right into his ear. “I want to give myself to you tonight. All of me. Will you have me, love? Do you want me?”

Taekwoon was trembling like a leaf, but he reached between them to stroke the hardness between Hakyeon’s legs as well. Hakyeon absolutely wasn’t playing fair, but someone had to make the first move, and Taekwoon was grateful that it wasn’t going to have to be him. And the feeling of The Dancer’s erection, hot and heavy under Taekwoon’s palm as he stroked softly, up and down over his jeans, was mouthwatering. He couldn’t take the anticipation anymore. He wanted his Hakyeon, and badly.

“I want—” Taekwoon hesitated, looking everywhere but at Hakyeon. He huffed. Hakyeon took his chin in his hand. “Sweetheart, if you’re not ready, we can just do this. Just touch. Just kiss. I don’t want you to feel like I’m coercing you.”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Taekwoon panicked, starting to gibber. “I want it. I do. I want everything, everything with you. I want to be good for you, but I don’t know what I’m doing, and every time you talk to me in that voice, it’s like my brain stops working and I can’t think straight. Hakyeon, I want you. So badly. Just…guide me? Show me how to make you feel good.”

Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes.

“I want you to make love to me, Taekwoon. I want to have you inside me,” Hakyeon whispered. “Will you?”

“Yes. Please.”

As quickly as it had come, the guise of the seducer was gone, and it was just Hakyeon again, with body insecurities and scars and fading bruises and probably still a little bit too skinny, but Taekwoon kissed him and held him as to show him how priceless and beautiful he truly was. Hakyeon surrendered completely to that kiss, melting into Taekwoon’s arms, sliding his hands over the angel’s broad shoulders, caressing the smooth lines of muscle and bone, and the angel moved to sitting, gathering The Dancer in his arms.

“Take me to bed,” he whispered. And Taekwoon did.

The bedroom was dim with only the faint orange light creeping in from the living room, but Taekwoon could see perfectly. As he lay his lover down on soft clean sheets, it painted The Dancer’s skin to burnished bronze, shining with a faint sheen of sweat.

The Dancer was looking up at him, eyes hooded, wet lips parted with soft puffs of breath, and there suddenly seemed to be miles of bare skin to investigate, to kiss, to worship.

Taekwoon knelt beside him, and tenderly kissed the tip of Hakyeon’s nose, then each cheek in turn, before kissing his lips softly. The human murmured something against his lips that he couldn’t understand and kept whispering sweet words of encouragement as Taekwoon kissed gently down over his jaw to his neck. He touched his tongue against The Dancer’s skin, taking in the taste of salt and something woody, a cologne The Dancer had worn today. It was delicious.

As he trailed his tongue down The Dancer’s long, elegant neck to his collarbone, he felt as though all his senses were heightened. Through their bond, he could have told you that Hakyeon’s heartbeat was strong, but fast, but not only could he feel it, he could hear it, sense it. Every beat, every whispering shaking breath, the way the human’s body came alive, sparking with energy beneath every touch of Taekwoon’s hands or mouth was his as well.

He lay down next to him. The Dancer immediately rolled into his body and hitched his leg up around the angel’s hip. He closed his eyes and was leaning in to kiss Taekwoon when the angel placed his hand on Hakyeon’s cheek, giving him pause.

“What’s the matter?” Hakyeon asked, concerned.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Taekwoon whispered, feeling incredibly vulnerable. “I don’t ever want you to regret. Are you really sure you want me?”

Hakyeon didn’t respond but reached for the waist of Taekwoon’s jeans. The angel held his breath as The Dancer fumbled with the button, then the zipper. He could have willed him away, but instead, he lifted his hips as his love pushed them down, leaving him bare. He hadn’t bothered with anything underneath.

He’d never felt so naked in his life. And even though he’d stood unclothed in front of The Dancer before, this was so very different. He never thought much about his appearance, but he suddenly felt a sense of something almost like pride that The Dancer seemed to find him beautiful. He wanted to be beautiful for him.

He did the same for Hakyeon, slipping his jeans down endlessly long, smooth legs. He was about to reach for The Dancer’s black boxer-briefs when Hakyeon leaned over him, kissing down over his chest, the way Taekwoon had done for him before, but continued moving down further, slipping down between the angel’s thighs, and he gripped the bedsheets as The Dancer’s mouth moved down past his navel, and his lips and breath brushed the head of his cock, hard, flushed, and curved up toward his belly.

Taekwoon’s pelvis jolted upward at the sensation and Hakyeon whispered, “Relax,” caressing his hips, holding him down, as he gently took him into his mouth.

It felt nothing like what Taekwoon had expected, but only because it was so much better than he ever could have imagined.

“Oh,” the angel whispered, completely incapable of any other speech. So this is what this felt like.

The Dancer’s tongue pressed flatly beneath his length as he worked his lips down the shaft, slicking him with saliva, easing the slide of his lips, taking him deeper with each downward movement. Up, then down, over and over, each caress of his plush lips feeling better than the one before, until Taekwoon was pressing into his throat.

For the first time in his long existence, Taekwoon understood. He knew precisely why humans behaved as they did in the search for romance or for sex. Because this feeling was so powerful, he’d never felt anything so…. He gripped The Dancer’s hair in his hand, unable to control the reaction. Taekwoon was coming completely undone. He thrashed under Hakyeon’s ministrations, gasping and crying out with reckless abandon as The Dancer skillfully worked his tongue and sucked so that his cheeks hollowed.

“Do you like that?” Hakyeon whispered, coming off his head with a slick, obscene sound that made Taekwoon’s cock jerk. He struggled against the desire to push down on Hakyeon’s head with his hand, yearning to regain that perfect warmth. “Do I make you feel good?”

“Yes,” Taekwoon whimpered.

“Tell me, aein. Tell me how it feels,” Hakyeon coaxed, smiling, swirling his tongue in a tight circle beneath the head in a way that made Taekwoon’s entire body seem to turn to jelly.

“Yes, it feels good. It feels so good. I don’t…I can’t… Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

And bless him, he didn’t.

Taekwoon’s hips lurched in The Dancer’s grip, so tight, keeping him as still as he could, it might have bruised, if angels could properly bruise, but it wasn’t long before Taekwoon knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold back anymore.

“Hakyeon…stop…” he begged. “Darling, wait.”

Hakyeon looked up at him with those beautiful fathomless eyes and released Taekwoon’s cock, though he continued to stroke him gently with one hand, teasing the slit with the tip of his tongue.

“Are you sure?” he murmured. “I want to taste you.”

“Y-yes,” Taekwoon stammered. “You can’t…can’t swallow it.”

“Why not?” asked the human, crawling back up the angel’s body, his own chest a throbbing heat against the angel’s cooler skin. Taekwoon wrapped his arms around him, bringing their bodies close.

“J-Jaehwan says it would make you sick,” he said quietly, stroking Hakyeon’s hair.

“How would he know that?” Hakyeon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t ask.”

Taekwoon really didn’t want to know where Jaehwan’s seemingly vast knowledge of human-celestial relations came from, but regardless of how mortifying the conversation was, he was glad to have had it; that he wasn’t going to be responsible for making His Dancer ill.

Taekwoon pressed their lips together and Hakyeon melted back into his kiss. Their mouths moved together for a few sweet moments, before Taekwoon

“Do you want me to do that to you, too?” he asked, gently stroking Hakyeon’s erection, which strained against his briefs. He hoped the answer would be yes, if only to give himself a few moments to calm. He didn’t want to finish too soon.

Hakyeon moaned, pressing himself harder against Taekwoon’s moving fingers. “Yes, but…not now. I think…I think right now I want you inside of me.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life,” the human whispered.

So, this was where it all had led to. Taekwoon stroked a hand down The Dancer’s spine, slowly, feeling each lump and curve of bone, and the human hummed. His fingers stopped as they reached the waistband of his briefs and Hakyeon lifted his hips away from the angel’s body, arching his back, and Taekwoon slipped them down his thighs, carefully releasing the human’s aching erection from their confines. He could feel Hakyeon’s relief; it came across in a wave as he kicked the offending cloth away they were both finally naked in each other’s arms. 

Hakyeon crawled up Taekwoon’s frame so that he straddled his hips. Taekwoon could see his entire body so clearly, and The Dancer clearly was unaware just how breathtaking he was. Even in the half-light, the long lines of his body shone from the glow of the streetlamps creeping through the blinds and the single lamp in the living room, a single shaft of light from the crack in the door. He was slender and lithe, his muscles toned but not bulky, his stomach flat with smooth lines, instead of rigid with muscle. Every inch of his skin was tan and soft and so unbearably lovely, and Taekwoon let his gaze drop to where the human’s cock stood up from his body, larger than he’d thought and perfectly formed, hard and arched, and just as stunning as the rest of him.

The Dancer reached over to the bedside table to where the little bottle of clear liquid Taekwoon had so thoroughly avoided at the pharmacy was waiting. He was suddenly glad it was there.

Hakyeon smiled mischievously, “And did Ken tell you what we do with this?”

Taekwoon flushed so hard he was certain The Dancer could see it, even in the dimness. “I know what to do,” he said quietly. He was certain that Hakyeon could feel his nerves, though. He knew he was projecting, in spite of himself.

“How about I show you?” The Dancer asked, his eyes gentle. “At least this first time? I’ll show you what I like.”

Taekwoon nodded.

The Dancer carefully coated his own fingers with the liquid and positioned himself so that he was draped across Taekwoon’s midsection.

“Watch me,” Hakyeon whispered, reaching back.

And Taekwoon Watched. The Dancer started slowly, fingering himself open with gentle thrusts, with first one finger, then two, until his gasps and whimpers were driving Taekwoon crazy. His hole fluttered, taking the digits with increasing ease, and he added more lube as needed until he was glistening, and the slick sounds were so erotic, the angel couldn’t help but give his own cock a squeeze in an effort to relieve the ache.

By the time Hakyeon had three fingers pressed inside, he was moaning the way he had when he’d come alone in his bedroom, crying out Taekwoon’s name, and the angel couldn’t bear Watching anymore. Dragging his own finger through the liquid that was beginning to drip down over Hakyeon’s perineum and onto his testicles, he pressed his own finger slowly in alongside The Dancer’s, and they both nearly sobbed from the delicious feeling they shared: Hakyeon from the fullness and Taekwoon from the tight heat that he wanted to touch with other parts.

Hakyeon moved a bit faster than he would have done himself, but he didn’t seem to be in pain, and that’s when they both seemed to know that it was time. Hakyeon removed his fingers, pushing Taekwoon’s out as well, creating a sucking noise that they both couldn’t help but giggle at. Breathing heavily, The Dancer climbed up the angel’s body, his eyes glistening with need.

He seemed ready to push himself right down on Taekwoon’s cock, when the angel grabbed him around the waist instead and switched their positions so that The Dancer lay flat on his back, looking both dazed and desperate.

“Taekwoon,” he whined.

“Shh…” the angel whispered. “Let me look at you for a moment.”

They stared into each other’s eyes. Taekwoon knew that humans didn’t do this, but it was a celestial’s way of discerning trust and truth in another, and he needed it. The human didn’t protest, but merely bit down on his lower lip and gazed back with love and lust clouding his vision. Hakyeon’s eyes were almost black with the way his pupils were blown, hiding away their usual rich brown, and he could feel the connection between them, fully open, unquestioning, ready.

Without looking away, Taekwoon reached for the little bottle and slicked the liquid over his cock, which was aching with need. He needed to be inside his human and he couldn’t wait any longer. He pressed down in between the globes of His Dancer’s ass and lay down upon the other’s chest, resting his weight on his elbows

“Do it, aein,” Hakyeon whispered. “You won’t hurt me.”

“Do you promise?” Taekwoon asked, his hands curled into fists, to hide the way they trembled.

“I promise,” his beautiful human whispered against his ear. “I want you. I need you.”

He was so painfully gorgeous lying beneath him, laid bare, so defenseless, offering Taekwoon everything, body and soul. He moaned, not feeling worthy of the gift, but also completely incapable of refusing his lover what he asked.

He reached down to guide his way, then pushed forward, slowly, his eyes never straying from His Dancer’s face. Hakyeon’s eyes clenched at first, then fluttered, and then he threw his head back, letting out the most delicious sounding moan Taekwoon had ever heard. The angel himself gasped, overwhelmed by the unforeseen sensation. Hakyeon was so hot, so tight, wrapped tight around him. He’d never thought anything could feel like this. He’d never been so close to another being before, physically or spiritually, and he was overcome and elated, lost in the sweet sensation of wet heat and intoxicating scent and the sweet taste of sweat shining on Hakyeon’s skin.

He felt as though the bond were exploding around him. His wings burst from his back, every ounce of self-discipline gone in an instant as his hips met The Dancer’s tight round ass, and he clutched Hakyeon to his chest, completely out of control with a primal need he couldn’t understand but sought to quench with every part of his being. Jaehwan had warned him it would be like this. He’d told him, but Taekwoon hadn’t really believed it, not until he felt it for himself.

Hakyeon arched into him, his legs wrapping around the angel’s thighs, his feet resting against the back of his calves, and let out a sweet sigh of contentment as Taekwoon held himself so still inside, so deep. The Dancer reached out and caressed Taekwoon’s wing, which fluttered at the sensation and they both mewled at the feeling, kissing each other desperately.

“So beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful, my Taekwoonie. Now love me. Take me. I want to feel you.”

Taekwoon’s hips had already begun rocking slightly, instinctually, in spite of his attempts to calm himself, and he withdrew hesitantly, just a little, then thrust forward, seeking Hakyeon’s heat again. The human whined, raising his hips to meet the angel’s, wanting more. Taekwoon did it again.

“More,” the human whimpered. “Deeper, Taekwoon. That feels so good.”

The angel pushed harder, gasping for breath against Hakyeon’s slender neck. The human had raked his nails down Taekwoon’s sides, just beneath his wing joints, dragging over the sensitive flesh down to his butt, which he grabbed firmly, pulling Taekwoon’s hips against him harder, forcing him deeper inside. Taekwoon felt like he couldn’t breathe. His whole body was on fire.

“Oh God, Taekwoon, yes, just like that.”

Unable to control the desperation any longer, Taekwoon began to thrust into him hard. He pulled back until just the tip remained inside, then sheathed himself fully, slamming into the human with barely restrained force. It felt so good. He couldn’t stop if he’d tried. He fucked into him harder and harder until he couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think of anything but Hakyeon and More.

“How can this be your first time? How do you make me feel so good, Taekwoonie?” Hakyeon babbled, completely outside his mind. “I want to come, I want you so bad. I, oh God, I—”

Hakyeon was thrashing beneath him now and he let out a sharp cry before going completely rigid and coming hard between them, untouched. Taekwoon nearly wept at the way The Dancer’s body clenched around him, then his own sudden inescapable release made him stop breathing entirely. His whole world exploded in an armageddon of light and color and he blindly grasped onto Hakyeon, kissing every inch of sweet skin he could possibly reach.

“Oh, Hakyeon,” he gasped between kisses. “I love you. I love you.” He pressed the words into the young man’s skin, wanting it to sink in and stay with him forever. Hakyeon didn’t say it back, still convulsing with orgasm and the white-hot energy that flowed between them like they were of the same body, but Taekwoon didn’t even notice. He could feel it. As they began to come down from their highs, he could feel every emotion flowing through his lover’s mind, every thought, every spark of every synapse, every thrum of lifeblood flowing through his veins. He could feel the adoration, the frantic love, even the little bit of fear of the unknown. He could feel how content, how full he felt, with Taekwoon’s release still held inside his body, just beginning to seep around Taekwoon’s softening cock, down onto his thighs. They shivered in unison as he carefully withdrew.

Shifting, moving Hakeyon’s body gently, Taekwoon wrapped his wings around them both, cradling them in softness and warmth. The Dancer laid against his chest, eyes closed, lips parted. Taekwoon pressed his lips to the soft black hair, breathing in his scent.

As much as he loathed to think about his friend at a time like this, Taekwoon couldn’t help but wonder how Jaehwan was able to hold back. When they’d spoken, the higher angel had told him how hard it was to show restraint, to keep back the flow of energy. Taekwoon hadn’t been able to do it. When two celestials were joined together, Jaehwan had explained, it didn’t matter, because their bodies could channel the excess. They shared their power amongst each other. It felt like an exhilarating high. In a human, it could be devastating. For an angel of the third choir, it likely wouldn’t be life threatening, but for an angel of the second choir, such as Jaehwan, it could be too much for a fragile human’s body to take. It could stop their nerves from functioning, shutting down the brain, then the other organs in quick succession. He had to be extraordinarily careful. He’d come too close, once, he said, and it was terrifying.

Taekwoon swallowed. He hadn’t been able to hold back with Hakyeon. It felt too good. The connection between them was too strong. It was altogether too much for him. Perhaps Jaehwan had been more accustomed to the feeling, having been intimate with a celestial before he’d ever been intimate with a human. In his own experience, Taekwoon felt very lucky that his energy was limited. Still, he could see Hakyeon’s eyes glowing in the darkness from the residual holy energy flowing through him. He didn’t know, of course. But he would be even more beautiful, strong, healthy, vibrant until the energy wore away. He would have more power than he knew.

Taekwoon, however, would be less. He wouldn’t be quite as strong or powerful, so long as he was sharing his energy with another. But that was okay - it would be worth it. To keep his Hakyeon strong.

“That wasn’t very long. I’m sorry,” the angel said.

“Don’t be sorry for anything. It was perfect. It was everything.” Hakyeon leaned up to him, kissing him slowly. It felt so nice, to rest, to be at peace with his lover. There was no more fear. Hakyeon had been right. It was just him. Just them. Together.

“Taekwoon?” the human asked a little while later, pressing his head into the crook of his neck. Taekwoon hummed in response.

“Are there a lot of angels on earth?”

He thought about it a little, his mind cloudy with contentment.

“I wouldn’t say a lot. Especially not compared to how many humans there are. There are nearly 8 billion humans. The number of angels would be in the thousands,” he said lazily.

“That’s more than I was expecting.”

“You probably never met one before me. Most humans never will.” Taekwoon lifted Hakyeon’s hand, kissing his palm, then each fingertip in turn, until sucking lightly on his forefinger. The human gasped softly, then hummed at the feeling.

“Is it considered a good or bad thing to be sent to earth?” he asked, trying to focus.

“I can only speak for myself, but I never gave much thought to it. I had a job to do, and I did it without question. It is possible for me to go Beyond, and I do occasionally, but this is my home. It is what I know best. We’re really not so different than you,” Taekwoon continued, smiling, caressing the curve of Hakyeon’s hip. “We have souls. We have emotions. We feel pain and fear and loss and joy. We have our own likes and dislikes. We make friends. Some find lovers. Celestials are just more…disciplined, I suppose, than humans. As a general rule, anyway; there are exceptions. But we know our purpose. We don’t have to search for a reason to life. We already know the meaning to our existence because we were made for a single purpose.”

As he spoke, Taekwoon continued to caress the human’s naked form. His skin was hot, a little damp, a little sticky. He supposed they probably should have cleaned up a bit.

“But you said that you’d never even spoken to a human before me. You just Watched. For years and years.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“…But weren’t you lonely?”

Taekwoon took in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut as all the many years of memories flooded his mind at once. Watching families, lovers, friends, enemies, all the relationships unfolding around him, Watching them grow and thrive and live and die, and never speaking a single word. He’d never be able to explain how it all felt, and truly, he wouldn’t want The Dancer to know.

“Yes, I was lonely.”

His body had stiffened with the unwelcome thoughts. It was more painful than he’d ever care to admit. The Dancer must have felt it.

“Taekwoon,” he whispered. “You’re not alone anymore.”

The angel let out a sob, burying his face in Hakyeon’s shoulder. The Dancer stroked his hair with one hand, holding his waist tightly with the other, and crushed his lips fiercely against Taekwoon’s forehead.

“We’re together now,” Hakyeon continued fervently. “It’s you and me now. I won’t let you go. I won’t let you go. Not ever. I promise.”

The angel continued to weep, knowing it was a promise the fragile mortal would never be able to keep, no matter how much he may want to. Their time together would be so short.

But they had _now_.

He turned his face back to Hakyeon’s, kissing him desperately, with every bit of emotion he’d been holding inside. As the human gasped, startled by his sudden intensity, he took the opportunity to thrust his tongue into his mouth, and The Dancer whined, sucking it in, Taekwoon swallowing the sound.

Clutching at Taekwoon’s biceps, Hakyeon ground his growing erection against Taekwoon’s. The angel wanted The Dancer again, possibly even more than before. But he wanted…he wanted to be the one stretched around The Dancer’s length. He wanted His Dancer to release inside of him, to claim him as his own.

Their hips continued to move against one another’s all the while, and Taekwoon opened up his thoughts, letting Hakyeon feel his desires. The Dancer moaned, the sound moving up from deep in his chest.

“Are you sure?” he gasped. “I’ve never—"

He could feel The Dancer’s hesitation. In his other limited experience, he’d always been made to feel as though he should be the one to receive, rather than to give, but he wanted it. He wanted it with Taekwoon.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the angel grabbed the little bottle from the nightstand and pressed his fingers into himself, slicking his opening, preparing it for Hakyeon. He’d never done so before, but he didn’t really need the stretch to make himself comfortable. Jaehwan had told him that their bodies really hadn’t been made the same way as humans’ were. They didn’t need the same kind of preparation a human did. He used the rest of the lubricant on his fingers to slip his hand easily over Hakyeon’s cock, coaxing it quickly to full hardness.

There was an urgency to his request. He could still feel the sadness encroaching in on his mind, the loneliness of thousands of years, and he wouldn’t let it touch him. Not while he was with Hakyeon, the first and only lover he would ever have. And Hakyeon moaned at his touches, whimpering at the way Taekwoon dragged him back into his arms, needing him closer, needing him inside. By then, their thoughts were flowing so well into each other’s minds, Hakyeon needed it just as badly, and without thinking, without faltering, the moment he was situated between Taekwoon’s legs, he thrust in as deeply as he could.

The angel arched, throwing his head back into the pillow, his wings rustling on either side of them as Hakyeon seated himself fully inside. The hurry was gone the moment they connected, and they paused, feeling each other. And Taekwoon knew now why the act was called making love. He had never felt so safe, so secure, so loved as he did right now, with His Dancer holding him like he was the one who was fragile, buried so deep inside him.

The Dancer began to move, thrusting into his body, taking pleasure in the tight heat that Taekwoon could feel, too. Their pleasures combined so naturally, it was too hard to keep themselves separated when they were joined.

The angel’s tears ran down his cheeks and into his hair in shining rivulets. He didn’t even know why he was crying. He’d never realized how alone he’d really felt until he wasn’t alone anymore.

Hakyeon didn’t stop moving, not for a moment, and as his pace quickened, Taekwoon wailed, the high-pitched sound breaking the silence of the night, as suddenly Hakyeon shifted a bit, arching his back, and the angle changed. Taekwoon was suddenly seeing stars.

“Yes,” he cried out, louder than he had ever been. He gasped with each breath. “There. Right there. Oh harder. Oh Hakyeon.”

The man who had once kept silent for a hundred years began to babble, nonsense pouring from his lips as his lover thrust even harder into him, pounding into that sweet spot that felt so good, so good, so good. Taekwoon fell back onto the pillows as his back sharply arched, a high-pitched mewling sound he’d never made before escaping his throat.

Hakyeon snapped his hips, thrusting harder into the angel, and he gasped, “Yes, like that. More.” The Dancer did it again. Hakyeon held himself over Taekwoon with just one arm, the other used to grasp and hold his thigh up, and his eyes were dark, and Taekwoon loved the feeling of relinquishing control, of seeing The Dancer above him, holding him down, so beautiful and strong.

“Beg me,” Hakyeon said with that mischievous smile he loved so well.

Taekwoon did not pause. “Please. Oh, please. I need you. Harder. F-fuck me.” At his words, Hakyeon groaned, a surprisingly throaty sound, and did precisely as the angel had asked, being deliberately rough, aiming always for harder, deeper…

Their flesh came together with harsh slaps, and the angel wailed as a particularly hard thrust hit him just right and his orgasm took him again, unexpectedly, and everything went dark.

.

.

.

Taekwoon woke slowly. His body felt boneless, but heavy. He was weighted down. It took him several moments of disorientation to realize that Hakyeon was sprawled out over his chest, their legs tangled together, the full weight of The Dancer’s body pressing down on his own. 

The sticky mess from the night before had mysteriously disappeared. He didn’t know what happened, how he had fallen asleep before The Dancer did, but there were towels laying on the floor at the bedside, and Hakyeon must have cleaned them both off before drifting off himself. He was touched by the gentle way His Dancer had taken care of him.

The watery late-autumn sun was shining past the blinds. The morning was lazy, languid, and the heat of Hakyeon’s skin felt so good, trapped against him by his wing, curled protectively around his lover, shielding him from the chill of the room. His other wing was laid out flat across the rest of the mattress, and he was amused to discover Ink also fast asleep, curled up just below the covert joint. It was cozy, their strange little family, and he felt his heart jolt in another strange new way.

He felt like he knew now, knew everything, like he’d eaten the fruit of the Tree. He knew the pleasures he’d been denied his many years, the closeness of joining, the feeling of being whole, but also the pain of withdrawing, the ache of wanting to be One again, the moment their bodies parted. He knew the love of family; though they weren’t connected by blood, he knew he’d protect them with his life, would sacrifice anything for these creatures he loved. This love was overwhelming, all-consuming, and it was the holiest thing he’d ever experienced.

With the full press of their bodies together, through their bond, he could feel The Dancer’s contentment, even in his sleep; his dreams were peaceful flickers of bright images and soft glimpses of Taekwoon’s own face in the human’s mind. He wished, absently, that he could dream. If he did, it would be of Hakyeon.

Ink twitched in his sleep, his paws shifting as though in pursuit, ruffling the feathers of Taekwoon’s wing and the angel shifted slightly. It tickled. This movement, in turn, startled the cat awake. Realizing that one of the keepers of his food bowl had awakened, the animal stood, stretched, and started to fidget impatiently.

“Lie down, Inky,” Taekwoon whispered as softly as he could. “You will wake your—”

Hakyeon squirmed in Taekwoon’s arms. “Too late,” he concluded.

The Dancer’s brown eyes opened, fluttered, and closed again, before he rolled slightly onto his side, off of Taekwoon’s chest, and squinted up at the angel’s face.

His hair was a mess, he had sleep dust in the corners of his eyes, and he was naked as the day he was born. The angel touched his cheek, puffy from sleep, and ran his thumb over his lover’s kiss-swollen lips. Taekwoon thought he was more beautiful than he’d ever been.

Eyes still closed, Hakyeon parted his lips over the tip of Taekwoon’s thumb and drew it into his mouth, sucking softly. The angel shivered, remembering the feeling of Hakyeon’s mouth moving over other parts.

“Good morning,” Taekwoon whispered, withdrawing the digit from The Dancer’s eager mouth.

“Good morning,” he replied between soft kisses, trailing from the angel’s chest down the plane of his stomach. The angel’s breath caught as Hakyeon sucked a little mark onto the jut of his hipbone. It wouldn’t last. He wished it would.

Hakyeon slipped down between Taekwoon’s legs and took him back into his mouth. Taekwoon fell back against the pillow, dizzy. How could he possibly take any more of this? It appeared his body had other ideas, though, as Hakyeon wrapped his slender fingers around the base of Taekwoon’s cock, slicked with spit, his mouth wetly sucking at the crown, moving both up and down, in time, together.  

There was no urgency now, both completely sated from the hours before, but he could feel Hakyeon’s desire to simply drag out their pleasure, just a little bit longer.

For just a little longer, they wouldn’t stop.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A picture says a thousand words

“A little to the left and lift your chin,” Hongbin said absently. “Yes, just like that.”

The shutter clicked in rapid succession as Hongbin slowly took two steps to the left and bent his knees to crouch just a bit lower, completely focused on his work, capturing image after image of Wonshik against the outside of the Hanok. He liked Wonshik in his baggy jeans and expensive sneakers as an anachronism, portrayed against the traditional architecture.

Wonshik pushed his sleeves up a bit, completely unbothered by the November cold. Hongbin shivered.

“Okay, keep moving,” Hongbin instructed, straightening. “Fold your arms. More…swag.” The rapper smirked, and the camera flashed.

Wonshik leaned against the wall, one edge of his mouth lifted in an amused leer. Hongbin was just about to compliment him on the change in tone when he grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it, revealing tan, toned abs. Hongbin’s hands worked the camera on auto-pilot as he felt his brain go immediately fuzzy, like the neurological equivalent of a keyboard smash. Kim Wonshik was a goddamn tease, the photographer thought to himself, irritated beyond measure, though doing his utmost to look unaffected.

They’d gotten on the subject of Wonshik’s rapping and Hongbin’s photography again the night before. It had become a habit that Hongbin would return to Wonshik’s apartment after rehearsal each night, where they would eat together, chat about their day, then watch tv, play video games, or just leisurely make out on the couch. Their relationship thus far felt strangely domestic.

In many ways, that was a good thing. It was nice to have something that felt so stable, so reliable. It was a warm feeling to be going ‘home’ to something each night. Something that wasn’t Chansik’s leftover takeout containers on the counter and superhero boxer shorts strewn on the bathroom floor. And Hongbin appreciated the fact that Wonshik genuinely seemed to like him for himself and saw him as more than just a pretty face. That had been an occupational hazard when primarily dating other actors these past couple years.

But as days turned into a week, then turned into more, Hongbin had to admit, he felt a little frustrated, too. Every time he tried to go any further than kissing or chaste touches with Wonshik, the other man had slowed things right back down. Hongbin liked slow, he did, and they weren’t even a month into their relationship, but this was starting to feel _beyond_  slow. This was slow to the point of practically going backwards. Especially when he knew his best friend had thoroughly deflowered the innocent Taekwoon and was now getting the greatest sex of his entire life on a regular basis. He knew because Hakyeon never fucking shut up about it. Seriously. Gross.

So, while his own relationship wasn’t making much progress physically, he and Wonshik were getting to know each other much better on a personal level. Which is what led to the impromptu photo shoot: Wonshik needed some promo photos for his stage persona, Ravi, and Hongbin was always looking to add to his professional portfolio. Win-win.

“Let’s go up the hill a little way, now,” Hongbin instructed. “Then I’ll shoot down on you from the high ground.” He paused, rethinking his terminology, and muttered to himself, “Gosh, are we taking photos or playing Overwatch?”

His model winked at him. “Both, if you play your cards right, sweet thing.”

“God, you’re  _so_  sexy,” Hongbin deadpanned, snapping a candid of the other man’s answering smile.

“Hey, I know how to turn  _you_  on,” Wonshik quipped in return. He had that right. Because he was a goddamn tease.

“Power switch,” the rapper continued, and Hongbin rolled his eyes.

They worked steadily for about twenty more minutes, then crouched down side-by-side, next to the building. Hongbin brought up the history on the screen of his camera and flipped back through the memory, stopping occasionally to zoom in on a particular favorite. He had the tendency to get overly involved with his work and zoning out on everything else, because he was startled when Wonshik spoke again.  

“We might want to hurry it up,” Wonshik said, breaking Hongbin from his detailed examination of the rapper’s veins, revealed by the rolled-up sleeve. Fortunately, Wonshik didn’t seem to notice what he’d been looking at.

“Hmm?” The photographer glanced up and followed the path of his boyfriend’s pointed finger to the dark clouds rolling in overhead. It certainly did look like rain. Shit. His equipment.

“We’ll have to do more another day,” Hongbin agreed. “I can’t risk all this getting wet.”

“I’ll help,” Wonshik volunteered, assisting Hongbin as he disassembled his kit and packed it away.

“Weird. My weather app didn’t say anything about rain,” Hongbin commented absently, looping a strap across his chest as they started to walk. The other man shrugged, equipment cases in both hands.

“Can’t be helped. Why don’t we find someplace to grab lunch and see if we can’t wait it out?”

“Sure. Are you actually going to eat this time?” Hongbin asked as they headed down the hill towards Wonshik’s car, struggling slightly under the weight of the equipment.

“I eat,” Wonshik insisted, frowning.

“Not nearly enough,” Hongbin grumbled. “I get that your abs look like, like that, but you don’t have to starve yourself.”

“Look like what? Like this?” Wonshik asked, shuffling his bags and dragging the front of his shirt up with a grin.

Dammit. He was doing it on purpose. Again. He knew  _exactly_  what that did to Hongbin, as he got all tongue-tied and lost in another of his frequent fantasies of what the other must look like naked. He wouldn’t know. Because Wonshik was a goddamn tease. As if to prove his point, Wonshik gave him a cheeky wink.

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll eat. I’ll even let you order for me, if that’ll make you feel better. I’ll eat whatever you want me to eat.”

“I won’t be like  _that_ ,” Hongbin insisted, a bit petulantly. “I just want you to be healthy and don’t get sick.”

“I won’t,” Wonshik said, leaning over to peck him on the cheek. “I promise.”

Hongbin flushed, after a surreptitious glance around to make sure no one was looking. Affection in public wasn’t his thing; he’d always actively avoided it in the past and complained loudly and at-length about couples who couldn’t seem to wait for the privacy of their own homes to put their bodies all over each other. But he’d since discovered that he loved Wonshik’s touch so much, it made him feel conflicted. So, when Wonshik’s fingers brushed against his a few moments later, he’d looked to the ground, embarrassed, but allowed the older man to take hand into his own.

It was only about ten minutes later that the camera and equipment had been safely locked away in Wonshik’s trunk, and they were seated in the window of a little café they’d found. The showers started just after they had sat down, and it was very cozy, watching the rain as it began to streak down the glass. And instead of facing him, Wonshik had drawn Hongbin alongside him in the corner booth, and his boyfriend’s knee pressed into his warmly. Still, more contact…because Wonshik was a goddamn tease.

“So, what looks good?” Wonshik said, propping up a menu between them and nudging Hongbin with his shoulder.

He scanned the menu, which was mostly Western-style, soups and sandwiches and salads. He picked a sandwich-and-soup combination and when the waitress arrived to take their order, Wonshik simply ordered two of the same meal.

While they ate, Hongbin complained about Hakyeon and Taekwoon, much to Wonshik’s amusement. It was absolutely impossible to encounter one without the other anymore. And not only at home, oh no, but Taekwoon was at  _every_  rehearsal now, having been volunteered to be a stagehand by Hakyeon, and Hongbin had never seen anyone so enthusiastic about the minor duties he’d been gifted. Taekwoon would push a broom, answer calls for lines, or track down lost props with more enthusiasm than anyone Hongbin had ever seen. His patience was endless, he never declined  _any_ request, and he seemed to be genuinely thrilled just to be liked and included. The whole cast adored him.

Hongbin adored him. And that was the most annoying part of all. Because he could never speak to Hakyeon alone. He probably never would again. Seeing Hakyeon and Taekwoon together was somewhat unnerving to watch: the way each would orient themselves around the other, caught in each other’s orbit, like little planets. When they weren’t working, they would link fingers and just gaze into each other’s eyes, like they were holding entire conversations in silence.

Hongbin had seen Hakyeon stupidly and completely infatuated before. He’d seen it several times, because Hakyeon had been stupidly and completely infatuated with someone probably every single day of his adult life. But  _this_  was something Hongbin had never seen before and it made him feel strangely uncomfortable. The way they simply looked at each other was far more intimate than any sex Hongbin had ever had in his life. But only recently, though, did he begin to wonder if perhaps he was jealous. They didn’t have to question their relationship. They didn’t have any external forces coming into play. Their love, and it was very obviously love, was so simple in comparison to what Hongbin had now.

Because Hongbin didn’t know what he had now. He liked Wonshik. He liked Wonshik very much. He wanted Wonshik. But he didn’t know if he loved Wonshik or not. Maybe it was too soon to know. But then Hakyeon would always say that he  _just knew_  that he loved Taekwoon. He’d known right away. Bam. Love at first sight. It hadn’t been that way for Hongbin at all.

And then, there was Ken, who continued to pull at Hongbin’s heartstrings in a way he didn’t understand. He found himself drawn to Ken for comfort whenever Wonshik wasn’t there. He didn’t pine for Ken when he was in Wonshik’s arms, but he didn’t exactly yearn for Wonshik, either, when Ken was resting, warm and heavy, against his side in the auditorium seating. Shouldn’t he  _just know_? Why didn’t he know? Did Wonshik still think about his former love, Jaehwan, when he was with Hongbin? Was that why he always pushed him away?

Relationships are so confusing.

Wonshik was telling a story about some old scholar from the Joseon era, with such detail he sounded like a documentarian, when a flash of a man in profile dragged his attention to the window abruptly. Hongbin followed his gaze, confused, then stiffened in his seat. Hunched against the rain and bundled in a dark blue coat, even with soaking wet hair and his eyes squinted against the weather, Hongbin knew exactly who it was. He’d seen those eyes narrowed at him in animosity too many times before. Wonshik’s brow furrowed with recognition just as Hongbin felt his stomach clench in revulsion.

“Am I crazy, or did that look a lot like—?”

Hongbin cut him off, eyes following the pedestrian’s retreating back. “You’re not crazy; that was Caleb. What’s he doing over here?”

“I don’t think he saw us,” Wonshik remarked. “At least, there wasn’t any eye contact. He just walked past.”

Hongbin nodded. It was disturbing, seeing him. He’d hoped that in a city of nine million people, he wouldn’t ever have to lay eyes on him again. They weren’t anywhere near his or Hakyeon’s homes and the other man hadn’t seemed to have seen them, so he didn’t think they were any danger, but he felt his appetite and his mood fade, simply having had him so close by.

Hongbin didn’t want to look like he was running away, but nor did he want to continue shooting here if that scum was in the area. It just wasn’t worth the risk of confrontation should they run into him accidentally. Wonshik was smart and strong, and plenty capable of handling any potential conflicts (particularly given his job, of which he was careful not to give too many particulars), but still, better to avoid an altercation entirely, if possible.

Hongbin voiced his concerns, and Wonshik agreed. “I think you’re right. Even if it stops raining, we’ll just leave after lunch. We can finish up another day or just use the ones that we took already. They looked amazing from what I could see. I can’t imagine any better.”

Hongbin calmed a bit with the praise. He’d thought they looked good, too, although whether that was his own skill, or the fact that Wonshik was basically the perfect model, was debatable.  

\---

Lee Hongbin was an unbearable tease.

After stumbling through the door under the weight of Hongbin’s awkward attempts to keep their lips connected, they’d finally made it to the living room. As it happened, they had taken a few more pictures when the skies had cleared up, since Hongbin couldn’t resist the aesthetic of the light reflecting on the wet streets. It was _artistic_. And this brought them closer to dinner time. And all throughout dinner, Hongbin had found little excuses to touch Wonshik. He’d entwined their fingers on the tabletop, slid the back of his foot up and down the side of Wonshik’s calf beneath the table, and stealthily slid his hand over the curve of Wonshik’s ass as they made their way back to the car. Through the bond, though he fought to keep it repressed, keep Hongbin from touching his own mind, hiding who and what he was, Wonshik had nevertheless felt how amorous the young man was feeling. Particularly after a couple glasses of red wine. He was making this  _too_  hard to resist. Wonshik didn’t know if he had the strength. Because Lee Hongbin was an unbearable tease. He was irresistible.

And now, for the third time this week, Wonshik found himself gasping, struggling to breathe or speak or think, as the young human kissed and bit at that sensitive bit of his neck, just where it met his shoulder. Taking advantage of Wonshik’s head thrown back as he panted into the darkening room, Hongbin climbed into his lap and slipped his hands beneath his teeshirt, caressing the hard, smooth muscle of his abdominals.

The angel pulled the boy’s lips back to his, thrusting his tongue into the human’s mouth, where he tasted faintly of mint, from brushing his teeth after eating. Hongbin whined slightly into his kiss, slipping his hands down to the curve of Wonshik’s hips, where he grasped, just over the bone. Wonshik yearned to push those hands even lower, to ease the throbbing ache that had settled back between his legs, and he knew that later that night he would be, once again, frantically jerking off in the shower just to relieve the tension, to regain mastery of his body. He’d never wanted someone the way he wanted Hongbin. He’d wanted Jaehwan, of course, but he could always  _have_  Jaehwan. He’d offered himself up freely. At least, he had when they’d been together.

Hongbin was something he wanted desperately and couldn’t have, which was as exhausting as it was exasperating. A Malakhim should have better self-control than this. But then again…no Malakhim had ever gone up against the likes of Lee Hongbin. Even a higher angel couldn’t resist him, and he’d felt the evidence himself, coursing through the human’s body like flames. He could still feel it. He could still feel that other angel. He still wanted them. Both of them. He wanted to be inside this human, to taste that power. And he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep him.

“Fuuuuuck—” Wonshik rasped as Hongbin ground his hips down against him.  _That_  was new. He grabbed the human’s hips holding him still as he thrust up against him, juddering against the harsh friction. The boy had never done  _that_  before, and, oh, Hongbin was hard. Wonshik fought the urge to come right in his jeans, wanting the human with a desperation bordering on insanity.

“Wonshik,” Hongbin whispered, panting against his ear as he rolled his hips down. The angel hissed at the sensation. It felt so fucking good. “Wonshik, please, I--”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, he sounded so good when he begged.

“I can’t do this anymore…I need—"

Wonshik somehow managed to resist the urge to cry out in agony. Hongbin wanted to stop. It had been too much.

“Baby,” Wonshik interrupted, immediately stopping the movement of his hips and threading his fingers through Hongbin’s soft hair, swallowing down his disappointment, “It’s okay, we don’t have to…”

Hongbin let out a loud huff, letting his body go so limp, he practically fell backward off Wonshik’s lap. He didn’t seem overwhelmed, he seemed…frustrated? He looked nearly as frustrated as Wonshik felt.

“Babe? Hongbin? What’s wrong?” Wonshik asked, pulling him back upright. The boy flopped limply against Wonshik’s chest before pulling away, all sensuality immediately disappearing from his movements. He let out a long, drawn-out breath.

“Why don’t you want me?” Hongbin blurted, squeezing his eyes shut as though waiting to receive a physical blow.

Wonshik spluttered, “What?”

“Why don’t you want me? I’ve been trying so hard to get you to let go, but you always pull back. You’re so hot and cold. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“You…you think I don’t want you?” He was so flabbergasted he could barely speak. What on earth was Hongbin even _talking_ about?

“Obviously you don’t! Why do you even want to be with me? Do you just not want a physical relationship? Because I can try, but I’m not sure that I can do—"

“Hongbin, I…I was trying to be a gentleman. I didn’t want you to think that I only wanted you for your body, or because you’re handsome. You said the last guy you were with made you feel used. I didn’t ever want you to feel that way with me.”

“So, you do, then? You mean, you want to? With me?”

Wonshik blanched. “Want to? Of course, I  _want_  to. Are you  _crazy_? Are you actually, literally insane? Have you not noticed that I’ve been so perpetually hard that I’ve practically been impaling myself on my own dick for the past month?”

“That’s quite the mental image…” Hongbin raised an eyebrow, but the corners of his mouth had also lifted a bit. “You really mean it?

“You  _really_  didn’t know?”

Hongbin paused, suddenly looking horrorstruck.

“Oh God. Wait. I thought you said that you and Ja--… Christ, you’re not actually a virgin, too, are you?”

Wonshik started to laugh, his head tossed back. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, good.” Hongbin let out a relieved breath. “I didn’t think so, but I’m not sure I want to be responsible for all that.”

“No?” Wonshik fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. “You don’t want to be a big strong man, showing little Shikkie how to luurve?”

Hongbin cringed hard, his fingers curling so hard into his palms, he was afraid they might never unfurl. “Never speak like that again.”

“Aww, but I’m your wittle Shikkie? Aren’t I?” he started to tickle Hongbin’s sides, and the boy shrieked, laughing and squealing, his dimples on full display. “Shikkie wuvs his Binnie-boo.”

The aegyo was  _revolting_  and Wonshik knew it. It made Hongbin’s violated expression even funnier. Once he’d stopped laughing, though, he got back to the business at hand.

“Seriously, though, Wonshik…every time we started getting further than making out, you stopped. I thought that maybe you weren’t interested, at least, not like that… or that maybe you were disgusted by what I told you a couple of weeks ago. I was willing to be understanding if you weren’t ready for a physical relationship, but it was so hard not knowing. I just, I thought—"

The boy was cut off as the angel lunged back forward and connected their mouths.

“You…are so…stupid,” Wonshik murmured between hard kisses against Hongbin’s lips. Pressing him down onto his back, he continued kissing the boy deeply, allowing him brief glimpses of his own lust through the bond, which made the human gasp with wanting. He let his hands move downward, brushing his thumb over the nipple he could see raising the fabric of Hongbin’s shirt, over the human’s own tight abdominal muscles, then down between his legs, to where his cock strained against the confines of his jeans. The human arched sharply at Wonshik’s touch and the angel closed his eyes, caressing.

Not wanting Hongbin...of all the most ridiculous things he’d ever heard…

\--- 

The next morning, Hongbin woke in Wonshik’s arms. His boyfriend was already awake and looking out the window up at the sky, caressing Hongbin’s bare shoulders absently and humming to himself. They were both wearing nothing but their underwear, having gone significantly further than ever before with kissing and touching the night before, and the other man’s skin was hot against his. Hongbin would never be able to erase the memory of how sexy Wonshik looked, gasping, with both of their come dripping down his chest.

Wonshik was the most relaxed Hongbin had ever seen him. He seemed to be in something of a dream state, completely lost in his thoughts. Hongbin had been looking up at his face for several long moments before the other even noticed that he’d woken.

“Good morning,” he said, brushing his lips over Hongbin’s forehead. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long. You looked like you were having a nice daydream. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You couldn’t ever disturb me,” Wonshik replied and Hongbin resisted the urge to cringe only due to the fact that he’d said it in a voice so full of affection, it felt almost like love. It was a kneejerk reaction for Hongbin to seek escape, any time anyone said anything remotely mushy. It was annoying how mushy Wonshik managed to make him feel sometimes.

“What are you doing today?”

“I’m going to have to work,” Wonshik said, making a face. Hongbin giggled.

“So, who is this stiff whose body you need to guard?” Hongbin asked, curious. “Somebody famous? Or just some bigshot?”

Wonshik smiled. “Some bigshot. The biggest.”

Hongbin wrinkled his nose. “Ew.”

“You’re telling me. What about you?”

“I have rehearsal later, but I should probably go back to my house for a while so Gongchan doesn’t think I’ve died.”

“That’s your roommate?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s just a nickname. Chansik and I have lived together for a couple of years. Hakyeon and I had talked about moving in together once-upon-a-time, but he couldn’t seem to stop getting boyfriends and moving in with them instead.”

“Actually, speaking of that,” Wonshik said lightly, “We kind of got sidetracked at the time, but it was odd seeing Caleb Johnson yesterday. Have you seen anything else of him recently?”

“No, nothing at all,” Hongbin said, his brow creasing in apprehension at his boyfriend’s suspiciously casual tone. “Have you heard anything?”

“No, that’s what worries me, honestly. I’ve been in the business of protecting people for a long time. And someone like him doesn’t just disappear and move on with his life, not just like that. I’d been keeping an eye out, so it’s strange that he just chanced across us, happenstance.” He sighed, but then lifted one corner of his mouth in a small smile and placed his hand on Hongbin’s cheek. “I don’t want you to worry, or feel paranoid or anything, but just promise me that you’ll be careful? No going around by yourself at night, or anything like that; no unnecessary risks?”

“I promise,” Hongbin said. He never really took any unnecessary risks, anyway. “And I’ll keep my eye on Hakyeon.”

Wonshik kissed him, gently. “Good.”

 They’d both gotten showered and dressed, then. Separately, unfortunately, but Wonshik had insisted on making Hongbin breakfast before he left for the day, so Hongbin had showered while his boyfriend busied himself with trying out a brand-new waffle iron he’d purchased. They actually turned out surprisingly well, for someone who had never made waffles before.

Wonshik had dropped Hongbin off at home later, with his equipment, and Hongbin promised that he would work on the photographs tonight, so Wonshik would be able to use them for posters. He had a show coming up on the weekend and Hongbin was excited to see him onstage for the first time.

 A few hours later, he was back at the theatre. As Taekwoon had found himself captured by the stage manager for whatever menial task he’d managed to come up with for him today, Hongbin finally had the opportunity to confront Hakyeon. He found him in the audience, buried in his script.

“Hyung, we never hang out anymore,” Hongbin whined, flopping down into the chair next to his best friend and dropping his head dramatically onto his shoulder. “You’re always with Taekwoon, or Leo, or whatever his name is.”

“It’s Taekwoon. And yes, I know I haven’t been as accessible as I should be. I’m sorry. But you’re always with Wonshik or Ken, or whoever you’re dating,” Hakyeon replied, raising an eyebrow, though not looking up from his script.

Hongbin looked at him narrowly, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He scowled at his friend’s lack of cooperation. “I’m dating Wonshik. I’m friends with Ken.”

“Friends…” Hakyeon said thoughtfully. “Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”

“I…we…” Hongbin stammered. How could Hakyeon possibly suspect? He never told him about what happened between him and Ken. And Ken would never tell him. Hongbin didn’t even think that Hakyeon and Ken really spoke at all outside of rehearsals these days.

“I know what you did, Dream Bean,” the older boy said, a wicked twist to his lips, finally looking up from the book in his lap. He was daring Hongbin to lie to him.  

Hongbin bit his lip, debating. It probably wasn’t worth trying to keep it in. Hakyeon would never give up; he would just make him cave eventually. Besides, he already knew.

“Alright, fine. We did. But it was only one time!”

“I knew it! Kooong!” he whined. “Was this  _before_ or _after_  Wonshik?”

“Before!” Hongbin glared back, offended. “I wouldn’t cheat.”

“You’re with Wonshik now, and do you know how many times I’ve seen you holding Ken’s hand or had his head on your shoulder?”

Hongbin knew his expression must be horribly guilty, he did feel guilty sometimes about his conflicted emotions, but he protested nonetheless.

“But that’s not what it looked like. He’s been so depressed. He has a friend who is sick and he goes to visit him almost every day. Whenever he sees him, he comes back all sad and needy, and I’ve been trying to be a good friend.”

 “And how does he feel about you being with Wonshik?”

“I’m sure he doesn’t like it, but we don’t talk about it. He accepted it when I said that I could only be his friend. He hasn’t asked for anything more since then.”

“It still has to be hard. And he’s probably sticking close to you because he still has feelings for you, Bin.”

“I hope not,” Hongbin said. He looked around.

“You’re not going to find him. He called off today,” Hakyeon said.

Hongbin frowned. That somehow made him feel even worse, because he must be upset about something. He loved this show and he loved his job. He had only ever missed rehearsal when he was under some kind of emotional duress.

Hakyeon took Hongbin’s silence as an invitation to fill the silence with talking. And whenever he started talking, it was never long before he got onto his favorite subject: Taekwoon. And Hongbin did his best to zone him out for the remainder of the time before he got called onstage, leaving Hakyeon with an invitation for both him and his shadow to accompany Hongbin to Wonshik’s rap show over the weekend. Taekwoon had already mentioned it to Hakyeon, of course, so it wasn’t a surprise, and he promised that they’d both be there.  

After the practice had ended, it was a somewhat depressing walk back to his apartment. He’d gotten so used to going to Wonshik’s house after rehearsal that he’d gone four blocks in the wrong direction before having to turn around and go the other way. What a shitty day. He’d been in such a good mood when he’d gotten up, but his talk with Hakyeon left him feeling guilty and worried that he was leading Ken on. He really didn’t mean to. So between that, his extra long walk on already-tired legs, and the realization that he was going to be sleeping alone in a cold bed, he was feeling rather gloomy by the time he unlocked the front door.

He knew that only work or gaming was going to distract him from his thoughts, and since Wonshik’s concert was only a few days away, he should probably do the work. It was just as well. He did his best when under a deadline.

He settled down at his desk, uploaded the photographs to his PC, and settled his expensive gaming headphones over his ears. As Park Hyoshin’s smooth vocals soothed his frayed nerves, Hongbin worked at a relaxed pace, adjusting color and lighting, and editing out the occasional pedestrian or blemish on the walls (as there certainly weren’t any on his boyfriend’s perfect skin). The familiar motions were soothing. Opening up the next image, he smiled. Wonshik looked like such a badass in his rapper persona. No one would ever know he was such a sweet and fluffy teddy bear by nature. The pictures had turned out even better than he’d expected. Wonshik, as it turns out, was a perfect model.

It was getting late, but Hongbin really wanted to finish the task tonight so Wonshik could look them over. He always stayed up later than Hongbin and the photographer knew he’d have his favorites picked out by the time he woke up in the morning. It was 2am when he finally opened up the last picture. Something wasn’t quite right about it, though it didn’t register at first what it could possibly be. His brow furrowed and he looked closer. There were a few weird shadows. He’d have to crop out a street sign, and there were two pedestrians to erase. But there, in the background of the image…was that? He zoomed in closer. It was.

Ken was in the distant background of the photograph. He was walking away, but his face was very distinct. It was definitely him and he was clearly in distress.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He soothed the Power, kissed his eyes, wiped the water from his cheeks, allowed him to sob like a child in his arms, and promised him that God had a plan; That, one day, Jaehwan would be happy again.
> 
> He didn’t believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Brief suicidal thoughts, drug use, and hella angst.

With no need for sleep, and an unbendable determination not to use his wings, Jaehwan liked to walk.

He would spend hours walking around the city after dark, with no particular destination. The endless rows of dull gray and white buildings were painted with watercolor lights from windows, streetlamps, and neon, and the humans were more vibrant, too. Gone were the careworn businessmen and women in their starched suits, and in their place, the flowers of nighttime emerged, with colorful sneakers, dark-lined eyes, bright stripes in their hair, and metaphors inked into their skin, eyes still alive with the certainty of their immortality. He walked both to soothe his soul and for necessity.

That’s how he happened upon the flyer that drew him to audition for Spring Awakening. That’s how he’d ended up at Hongbin’s apartment that fateful, stormy night. He always walked after one of the bad days. And lately, more often than not, his days were increasingly bad.

Every time he entered the long-term care home, he did his best to do so with hope. Hope that when he padded his way down the long hallway, with its neutral décor and inoffensive framed prints of boats, to the door with a wreath of lavender, Henry’s sweet voice would call his name. That hope was being dashed with more and more frequency as time went on.

Jaehwan gulped in the fresh air just before the doors to the facility slid closed behind him. He loathed the smell of nursing homes or hospitals, anywhere humans were forced to reside when their bodies began to fail. Even though he didn’t need to breathe to live, he needed to breathe in order to speak, and when one’s best friend’s entire life is limited to the confines of his bed, one spends an awful lot of time sitting and speaking.

Breathing in, then out, he built up his stubborn bit of hope, and passed through the doorway and into the room.

“Good morning,” he trilled to the figure in the hospital bed.

“Oh, hello there,” came the brittle reply.

The hope immediately burned and blew away like dust. Henry didn’t say his name: Jae. Always Jae. He said, “Hey Jae,” when it was going to be a good day. Jaehwan forced the smile to stay on his lips as he headed toward the bedside chair.

“I don’t get many visitors. It’s nice of you to come say hello,” the old man wheezed. “My name is Henry.”

“My name is—”

“Good morning, Jaehwan,” Raenal said, kindly interrupting his forced reply as she entered with her med cart, a young woman in a ponytail and a brand-new staff polo bobbing in her wake. The nurse smiled sincerely at him. She was Jaehwan’s favorite staff. One of his favorite humans as well. She was the one who knew him best, and on more than one occasion, let him hug her as he cried, out in the hallway. He waved in greeting, swallowing back the pain. She understood. The nurse then broadened her smile as she looked over to her patient. “Good morning Henry. You remember Jaehwan, don’t you? He comes to see you every day.”

“Does he?” He looked over to Jaehwan curiously. “Well, that’s mighty nice of you. I’m sorry for forgetting. I’m a right old fool these days. The old brainbox isn’t what it used to be,” he said, tapping his temple with a finger.

“That’s quite alright, Henry. You need to take your medicine now, love,” Jaehwan said.

The nurse handed the old man a little paper cup of pills and a little Styrofoam cup of water with a bendy straw, the same thing, every day, and watched carefully to make sure he swallowed. She introduced the new staff member as Makayla, checked his vitals, and promised she’d make sure he got an extra slice of pie at suppertime.

“Lemon meringue,” the angel reminded her, automatically, as if she needed the reminder. She winked in reply, then thinking better of it, came around the bed and squeezed Jaehwan’s shoulder.

“You stay strong, honey,” she murmured. He blinked back the sting in his eyes.

As she pushed the cart back out of the room, Makayla lingered. Jaehwan had been about to turn back to Henry, but met her eyes when she seemed nervous, wanting to say something. He waited.

“It’s nice to meet you,” She said, hesitantly.

He nodded, wishing she would get on with it, and go.

“Your grandfather is very sweet,” she added, pity written clearly on her features.

“He’s not my grandfather,” Jaehwan snapped, turning away. He felt the wood on the arm of the chair start to strain under the force of his fingers as he squeezed.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she stammered an apology as she retreated out the door. She’d not yet learned to school her features into the impassive mask the other nurses and assistants had mastered, of compassion, empathy, yet without showing how sorry they feel bad for those forced to sit in these uncomfortable chairs, day after day, waiting for their loved one to die.

The moment she’d gone, Jaehwan felt some regret for frightening her. He knew he shouldn’t have done so, but it was one of the bad days and he couldn’t bear the look in her eyes. Henry wasn’t really paying attention and didn’t seem to have registered the interaction. His eyes were only on Jaehwan, staring with deep focus, obviously trying to make himself remember him by sheer force of will. Jaehwan cleared his throat and reached out for Henry’s hand. Henry took it without question, starved for touch, as always, and squeezed it weakly. The contrast between their hands, Jaehwan’s smooth and pale, Henry’s veiny and mottled with age spots, was fascinating to them both. Jaehwan smiled.

“Why don’t you tell me about the army, Henry? You were once a soldier, weren’t you?”

Henry was pleased with the conversation prompt, and regaled Jaehwan with the proud war stories he’d heard many times before. He could easily recite them by now, himself, but the angel jumped and laughed and gulped at the proper moments, knowing just how much his Henry enjoyed the reactions, and by the time several hours had passed, the old man was gripping his hand more strongly, smiling and laughing with a face several years younger than that to which Jaehwan had entered. It was the same every day.

When the aide entered with Henry’s supper, he gasped at the double-helping of pie, and after kindly offering one to Jaehwan, smilingly declined, the old man polished it off before he even started contemplating his meatloaf.

After dinner, Jaehwan flipped on a hockey game on tv, and they watched in companionable silence for a while (barring the occasional outburst at a bad call or a near-miss, which they did in unison), until Henry’s rhythmic breathing deepened, then slowed, then soft snores began to emerge from his lax mouth. Jaehwan smiled fondly at him, and, finally releasing his hand, stood and put on his jacket.

“See you tomorrow, Goody,” he whispered the pet name affectionately, leaning over the bedrail to kiss Henry’s lips softly. He tasted of lemon sugar. “I love you,” he added, heading for the door.

He’d taken about three steps when he heard the sleepy murmur, “Love you too, Jae.”

His heart stuttered and he knew his teeth would soon hurt from the way he was clenching his jaw, but after a few moments of crouching, agonized, in the hallway, he forced himself to leave, and let his lover dream.

Outside, it was bitterly cold. He didn’t really get cold, himself, but he could register the feeling of cold, the way it bit at his lungs when he inhaled. He looked up at the sky, which had turned dark in the time he’d sat with Henry, and the stars were all bright beneath a cloudless sky. He missed it here, sometimes. He missed the night sky. In Seoul, only a few hazy stars could be seen, and the years he had spent out in the country, here, in North America, seemed like something out of a dream, now.

For a time, he’d stolen a few pages out of someone else’s life – a normal life. For twenty years or so, he’d had a life almost completely human, where he’d attended backyard barbecues, school concerts, and Thanksgiving dinners, where he wore a suit and carried a briefcase and ate sandwiches out of a paper bag at lunchtime, where he’d go to the park with Henry and the kids and they would throw a football in the autumn sunshine. It was a good life, but so short. Too short. It wasn’t long before the lies he’d told about his age could no longer be believable, and he’d had to move, to cut off all of his connections but Henry, before he could be found out.

That was the hardest part. Losing the people he had come to love. He loved John and Michael, Henry’s boys, as though they were his own children. He’d provided the “scholarships” that funded their college educations and became the mysterious relative who lived out-of-state but always sent them exactly the right birthday present. He went to all of John’s football games, all of Michael’s baseball games, even after he’d pulled his disappearing act, hidden under coats and caps. It suddenly struck him that Michael was 71 years old himself, now. Almost an old man in his own right, by human standards. And John had passed away from a heart attack nearly ten years ago. Of the tiny, wiggling pink bundle he’d held and kissed the day of his birth, nothing was left but bones and memories.

Henry had argued that he could have changed the way he looked. He could have stayed, if he _really_ wanted to. It was the worst, longest fight they’d ever had. And perhaps he could have done that, faked his own aging, but that would have destroyed everything, the whole illusion. In order to be human, he didn’t just have to act human, he had to _feel_ human, he had to _believe_ he was human. Maintaining a disguise and a persona would just make him feel like an actor in his own life. He wanted to be himself. He couldn’t be anything else. To this day, he didn’t use his magic to transform his hair color, but used hair bleach purchased from the store, and did it himself in front of the bathroom mirror.

If he’d allowed his defenses down, if he’d allowed his rightful form, or his energy to truly emerge, not only would he lose that carefully-built impression of humanity he’d made for himself, not only would he terrify the man he loved if he saw it, but he could also be found. The other Powers could have tracked him down any time they wanted, he knew that, but they wouldn’t; as disgraced as he was, they probably found that a bad enough punishment. But the ones he was afraid might seek him out were Wonshik and Taekwoon. They would feel him immediately, and he didn’t have the strength to face them anymore.

Since then, since realizing that, with humans, he could only ever lose his loves, he had mastered the art of being invisible. Not like a Watcher – maintaining physical invisibility was easy, but the art of being hidden in plain view, like a Malakhim.

Everyday Jaehwan walked a tightrope of likeability, forgettability, and extreme loneliness. In order to survive in this world of humans, in order to not be noticed as unchanging, never-aging, never-dying, one must be pleasant, so as not to garner active dislike. One must be distant enough to never be loved. And one must be forgettable enough to disappear and never be missed.

He knew he was walking a fine line with Raenal. He’d already crossed the line with Hongbin. It was easier for someone like Wonshik, because he only ever stuck with a human long enough to perform his mission; he maintained a professional distance, as it were. He could only ever hurt Hongbin, Jaehwan’s little love.

Jaehwan was never any good at being professional in his interactions, because he genuinely liked humans too much.

As an angel of the second choir, a Power, he was expected to be the deliverer of God’s message or of God’s justice. He was one of God’s holy warriors and he’d literally struck down evil with a blade imbued with divine power, and spilled his golden blood protecting God’s creations from evil beyond their imagining. Many of his comrades viewed themselves as above humans, due to their closeness to God. Jaehwan disagreed. Humans were God’s favored creations and the heavenly choirs served them, protected them, and held their higher abilities in their defense.

This view did not endear him to the other Powers. His closeness to Wonshik had made him even less so. Powers were warriors. Powers were supposed to love only God. Powers did not associate with lesser beings, even angels of the third tier, let alone mortals. Even those others he’d once considered friends looked down upon him for his ability (in their opinion, his vice) to love those below. And in the faces of those who degraded him, he’d pressed his lips to a startled Wonshik’s, simultaneously ejecting himself from the inner sphere as well as starting him off on the greatest adventure of his life.

He sighed to himself at the memory. He was getting too emotionally tangled for early evening, on a random Tuesday, in Ohio. And besides, once he got home, it would be mid-morning.

He took a look over his shoulder, ensuring that he was indeed alone, then brushed back the veil and picked delicately through the woven strands of time-space, exiting on the other side.

It was warmer in Seoul. Not by much, it was winter regardless, but it at least felt nice in the sun. He glanced down at his clothes. The smell of the facility lingered on his skin and in the fabric, and though he hated to wash off any part of his time with his love, he was going to need to shower and change. He hated the smell of sickness and death. And then he needed to feel something alive: something beautiful and healthy and strong.

It was this that decided his course. After his shower, he would take a walk and go find Hongbin. He would ask him to talk. He would tell him the truth. About everything. And then let him decide whether Jaehwan could possibly be forgiven.

And with this, he headed home, not far from where he stood.

He knew it wasn’t healthy, this connection he’d somehow made between his past life and his present. He knew it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Hongbin. It wasn’t fair to Henry. It wasn’t even fair to himself. Perhaps if he’d done a better job of differentiating the two beautiful humans, perhaps if he’d just been honest from the start, he’d be in a better place now. Perhaps Hongbin would love him back. Perhaps he’d be able to let Henry go, the way Henry wanted him to.

Hongbin already knew he visited Henry every day. If he’d been open from the beginning, he’d be able to confide in Hongbin how tired he was, to be reassured that he didn’t always have to be strong, that sometimes it might be okay to just…not be okay. Hongbin just didn’t know who Henry was to Jaehwan. A friend, yes. A best friend, even. But how could he possibly explain to a human what it meant to love someone their entire life, then watch them slowly, but surely, fade away? How impossible to fathom must immortality be to a being whose existence was so very short? His own fears and insecurities were the kinds of things he used to be able to confide in Wonshik. But not anymore. He could no longer turn to his beautiful, kind, strong, Wonshik, who now hated him.

He would have to face him very soon. But not today. Today was for Hongbin.

As he turned onto his street and drew near to his apartment building, the Power slowed, hesitated, then stopped. He could feel a prickling. The same prickling he’d felt the day they’d been at the club, such as a human would say raised the hairs on their neck. Celestial energy always left a mark, wherever it went, and though an angel was not here now, he had been recently. Jaehwan reached out for it tentatively. Not strong enough for another Power; it had to be a Malakhim. And, knowing that, it wasn’t difficult to narrow down the possibilities, as there were only two Malakhim that could possibly be seeking Jaehwan, and one of them had his phone number and didn’t need to look for him at home.

Wonshik.

Wonshik had found him.

No! Why now? He had known, of course, that Wonshik would feel his energy within Hongbin. He knew Wonshik had already attempted to sabotage him once, by showing up at the theatre. He’d been able to slip away, unnoticed, before getting onstage, and called in with an emergency while standing directly behind the theatre. He supposed he should have known it would only be a matter of time before Wonshik traced the power here. He’d grown somewhat careless of late, feeding Hongbin his energy, desperate not to lose him.

Though he still hadn’t used any of his powers, which would have given him away completely, the very fact that Wonshik had stolen Hongbin from under his nose proved that he already knew who he was dealing with. All the Malakhim would have to do is touch Hongbin, to know that the Power was still there with him, wanting him. Just as Jaehwan knew that Wonshik was touching Hongbin, but had not been intimate with him. Jaehwan was the only soul that Wonshik loathed enough to want that kind of revenge against, but he didn’t _want_ another. Not in that way. Wonshik never, _ever_ , grew attached to his humans.

He looked around, ensuring his seclusion. He knew he must be alone, because the energy was fading away as he lingered. He flitted in off the street, slipping through the front door and up to his studio. He dropped his clothes somewhere in the general vicinity of the clothes hamper and stepped into the shower. The hot water soothed his frayed nerves somewhat, and by the time he was clean and smelling faintly of citrus from his favored shampoo, he felt less unnerved.

He didn’t have to run away from home. He had other safe houses, of course, but that shouldn’t be necessary. He did have to have the confrontation with Wonshik eventually. And if Wonshik came to him first, he didn’t have to spend the time working up the nerve. He reached out, feeling for Hongbin. Their bond was strong enough now that he could easily determine his location. Was he with Wonshik? He hoped not, but didn’t dare reach out for Wonshik, for fear of being noticed. His physical presence was hard enough to hide. If he touched the other angel’s mind, he’d definitely feel it. He shook his head, settled his thoughts, focused on blocking, and began walking north.

It was easy to track the object of his affections; all he had to do was follow the internal pull. The pull that lead him up the hill, past the palace, down one side street, then one more, and…

Jaehwan threw himself back around the corner of the building, praying to God he hadn’t been seen. Because Hongbin was there, an expensive camera in his hand, smiling with his dimples on full display, happy and handsome and alive. And so was Wonshik.

He hadn’t had caught sight of his Beloved in seventy-four years, running away every time he felt the familiar prickle of Wonshik’s energy. And with his focus on Hongbin, even now, Wonshik was so familiar, so like home, he hadn’t even noticed until it was nearly too late. And now, with a single glimpse of his broad back, in a long-sleeve teeshirt, his hair carefully gelled into disarray, every memory came flooding back into his mind in a torrent of inescapable pain and Jaehwan sank to the ground, gasping, certainly staring and wild-eyed as one insane.

He could hear their laughter and the sound of two pairs of footsteps, running. It seemed as though Wonshik had been pretending to chase Hongbin, who shrieked until both devolved into fits of giggles.

Was there no end to the pain? Still hunched, as though making himself small would decrease the ability to hurt, Jaehwan crept back to the edge of the building and watched with an increased sense of vulnerability and longing as he observed his former lovers interacting with one another. He wouldn’t ever have been able to tear his eyes off Hongbin’s otherworldly beauty for anyone but Wonshik. His dear Wonshik.

The other angel was dressed in flashy urban fashion and appeared to be modeling for Hongbin as he took photographs. And Wonshik…he was so stunning, Jaehwan thought the pain would end him.

They looked happy together as they chatted and teased. It felt like a knife to the chest; no, worse than that. It felt like being scorched and blistered by a celestial blade, something he’d had the fortune to only experience once. The memory made the scar on his arm smolder, and he rubbed absently at the wound while the burning continued in his broken heart.

He was going to be alone again. Wonshik hated him. Hated him enough to take Hongbin from him when he’d felt his energy. And now, despite his best hopes, Hongbin was truly gone. Jaehwan closed his eyes as the human leaned in to kiss Wonshik’s lips. He opened them a moment later, hoping it was over, to see Wonshik pressing Hongbin to the wall with the full length of his body, deepening the kiss.

Jaehwan remembered those kisses, drawn from Wonshik’s small, sweet mouth. He remembered with perfect clarity, every kiss they’d ever shared. Ten million, five hundred twelve thousand, four hundred seventy-eight perfect kisses, over three thousand, two hundred sixty-one years.

He remembered every time they made love. Every time they fought. Every time they laughed. He remembered _everything_ , with perfect clarity. It was not excruciating; it was unbearable. Because he thought Wonshik would understand. He thought perhaps Wonshik could learn to love Henry, too. He thought there was nothing that would ever take Wonshik away from him. He’d thought wrong.

And the way Wonshik was kissing Hongbin, that wasn’t the kiss of a Wonshik faking a relationship in order to hurt Jaehwan. That was the kiss of a Wonshik in love.

Wonshik was in love with Hongbin.

He pressed himself back to the brick behind him. He couldn’t look anymore.

He’d come here hoping to get Hongbin back, at least, his friendship. He now knew he was going to have to let Hongbin go. Through their brief touches each day, the entwined hands, the press of cheek against cheek, Jaehwan had been able to continue feeding Hongbin enough of his own energy to keep Wonshik’s from completely overpowering it, to keep it from fading forever. He wanted to keep part of himself within Hongbin so his love wouldn’t be forgotten. The way Wonshik had obviously forgotten. But that, too, wasn’t fair. The human was obviously conflicted. Not, perhaps, as conflicted as himself, but, Jaehwan thought, there likely wasn’t any man or angel throughout history as confused and conflicted as he was. He’d known that Wonshik suffered. He’d suffered in his guilt as well. So now, knowing that it was his fault Hongbin had suffered only made Jaehwan’s guilt grow, like a stone in his gut.

Is it possible to love more than one person at the same time? Jaehwan had never thought so. It seemed like greedy, arrogant behavior. For hundreds of lifetimes of men, he’d loved Wonshik, and Wonshik only. He never so much as looked at another. He thought that Wonshik had his whole heart. No, he didn’t just think that. Wonshik truly _did_ have his whole heart. It was just, when Jaehwan had met Henry, it didn’t feel like any of that love for Wonshik had diminished, but more as though his heart had expanded, to make room for Henry within it. The love he had for Henry was so different from his love for Wonshik that he hadn’t even felt conflicted within himself, until he saw the betrayal on Wonshik’s face.

And his love for each of them never faded. The love for Hongbin, and yes, he loved him, was fresh and new, but love, nonetheless. He’d felt that same way, of his heart making room, of his love simply growing, spreading seeds as in a field of flowers. Flirting was harmless and fun, but he never would have made love to Hongbin if he hadn’t loved him and hadn’t believed Hongbin could love him back. He never could have lost himself in their lovemaking the way he had. He’d never done that before. Not even with Henry. Not even the first time. And Jaehwan wouldn’t be here now, chasing after a pathetic, desperate dream if he didn’t love the human.

To hear that the human had gone to Wonshik the very next night had been heart-rending.

After they fought, after Jaehwan had announced that he’d quit, and left the theatre, he went immediately through the veil. He couldn’t move fast enough toward the familiar comfort of Henry, perfect, sweet, understanding Henry, who had consoled him as best he’d known how, and held Jaehwan close beside him in his creaky hospital bed while the angel sobbed, out of his mind with grief. The human had kissed him gently, caressed his hair, soothed him with hands gnarled as tree roots with arthritis and never once complained. His treasured Henry, who, two hours later, smiled sweetly, flashing dimples in his sunken, ruined cheeks, and charmingly introduced himself to Jaehwan, firm in the belief that they’d never met. And Jaehwan had run, yet again, leaving the bewildered man lying in his hospital bed, wondering what he’d done to offend the beautiful stranger.

How could he live? How could he keep living and re-living this heartbreak? Was he receiving the karma he’d earned for breaking Wonshik’s heart? Because if Wonshik experienced anything like what he was feeling, Jaehwan deserved this and more.

There were many occasions over the past too-many years when Jaehwan had nearly lost himself to the sorrow. He’d tried so hard to fall, to break his body, to die with Henry. Because he know that his Beloved Wonshik would never want him back after what he’d done. And the things he’d done to try to fall, the ways he’d tried in vain to offend God, and all he ever felt was that the Almighty was laughing in his face. He’d grown jaded and self-absorbed, and sometimes cruel, and when he finally couldn’t take anymore, drugged himself into oblivion, just to gain that brief unconsciousness in which he didn’t have to hurt. Didn’t have to watch Henry dying. Didn’t have to think about his eternal lover, living happily without him. His body wasn’t like a human’s. The reprieve never lasted long. But God, how he tried.

He’d even tried appealing to The Seer, the being closest to God.

“End it, Sanghyuk, please? I’m in hell. Make it stop, I can’t bear it!” he’d begged, on his knees.

And The Seer, in his blindness, his warmth, his equally fatherly and stubborn, childlike manner, had drawn the grieving angel into his arms, on his comfortable, ugly couch, in his equally ugly living room. He’d soothed the Power, kissed his eyes, wiped the water from his cheeks, allowed him to sob like a child in his arms, and promised him that God had a plan; That, one day, Jaehwan would be happy again.

He didn’t believe it at the time, he couldn’t, but as Jaehwan felt the glory of God, His love, His strength, flowing through him, he resolved to hold onto that hope and to try again. So, he kept trying. And trying. And making things worse.

And so Jaehwan left Wonshik and Hongbin to their bliss, and walked for countless hours more, until the alarm on his phone let out an annoying beep, alerting him to the fact that he was due to rehearsal.

He arrived just as the stage manager was calling everyone to order, leaving no time alone to speak with his castmates. He met Taekwoon’s eyes across the auditorium, where he was neatly sewing a label into a costume jacket. When the hell had Taekwoon learned how to sew? He could easily read the question on his friend’s face, “What’s wrong?” but it wasn’t as though he could answer. He just shook his head and looked down. He could feel Hongbin’s gaze as well. Their bond, still open from their one single episode of frantic lovemaking, and helped along by Jaehwan’s efforts at regular skinship, let him feel Hongbin’s energy reaching out for him.

He both loved and hated it. He yearned for Hongbin’s touch so much; and he could feel Wonshik in him now, so touching him was exquisite agony. After seeing him, the longing to taste Wonshik again, to touch him, was even worse. Worse than it had been in years.

Against his will, Hongbin likely felt the same longing for Jaehwan, even if he didn’t love him the same way. The human had been receiving the power and comfort of Jaehwan’s energy for weeks now, unasked for. He felt now as though he’d violated Hongbin, forcing himself on him unwillingly. It made him feel nauseous. And he found it strange that Wonshik hadn’t worked harder to overwhelm Jaehwan’s energy with his own, or hadn’t come before now to stop him from touching what was his. He obviously knew that Jaehwan was at the theatre with Hongbin every night, since he’d come before. He didn’t dare to hope that Wonshik liked the taste of Jaehwan’s energy still, surging through Hongbin’s blood, as much as he liked Wonshik’s. 

After the brief meeting, Hakyeon and Eun Ji were drawn onstage for their scene and the rest of the cast dispersed to wait for their cues.

Jaehwan sat miserably on a bench, stage right, and half-listened to the lines being run. So turned inward on his unhappiness, he was startled by Hongbin’s approach. Jaehwan flinched when he looked up and saw the anger written on Hongbin’s beautiful features, but regardless, stood to greet him.

“Care to explain this?” the human asked.

Jaehwan blinked at the mobile phone that the human was holding up in front of him. As Hongbin dragged his fingers across the phone screen, the image became clearer, of Wonshik, modeling in front of the camera, and of Jaehwan, clearly in the background. His heart felt as though it had leapt into his throat.

“I wasn’t following you,” Jaehwan insisted, holding up his hands as though in defense. “I was walking and I saw you two, and I thought that I wouldn’t be welcome, so I left.”

“You couldn’t even say hi, if it was so innocent?”

“I told you, he hates me.”

“He says he doesn’t even know you, Ken,” Hongbin all but shouted.

“Quiet backstage!” bellowed Jinwoo from inside the auditorium. They both immediately fell silent.

Jaehwan hadn’t realized that he’d ever approached Wonshik about him, but he guessed it made sense that he would have done.

“No, I guess he wouldn’t know my name, would he?” he said, mostly to himself, but also clarifying Hongbin’s unspoken question.

“And you’re not going to tell me what your real name is,” Hongbin said flatly.

“It’s not important,” Jaehwan said.

“How is it not important?”

“Why do you need to know? We’re not together,” replied Jaehwan, bitterly.

“Because you won’t give me anything _real_. If you’d been honest with me from the start, if you’d talked to me, rather than running out the damn door every time I got too close to you, maybe we _would_ be together!”

Jaehwan felt like he had been slapped. He took a step back, stumbling as though he’d been physically struck.

“I liked you. I really did,” Hongbin said, pouring salt into the wound. Jaehwan couldn’t help but linger on the past tense Hongbin had used. “But you left. And you kept leaving. You _keep_ leaving. And then you come waltzing back like I should just be waiting around. I don’t know what kind of a history you have with Wonshik, but you’d better find a way to face him, and fast, because he’s going to be coming to the show, and if what you’ve said is true, he’s going to know exactly who you are once you step onto that stage.”

“I—I’m going to talk to him,” Jaehwan said, stepping away.  “I am. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

He tried to speak with all the sincerity he had within him. But he wouldn’t meet Hongbin’s eyes as he turned. It was almost their cue.

In his peripheral vision, he could see Hongbin cram his cell back in his pocket with trembling hands. He was still angry, Jaehwan could feel it, but he loved Hongbin too much to try to console him anymore.

He wouldn’t touch Hongbin again. He wouldn’t try to keep Hongbin and Wonshik apart. In fact, when he saw Wonshik, and he would do so very soon, he would give them his blessing. Not that they needed it, but it might help him to move on, at least, to know he’d tried. They deserved to be happy, together, hopefully for even longer than he’d had his Henry. And Jaehwan would do just as he’d always intended. He would spend the remainder of Henry’s life by his side, and he would find some way to live out the remainder of his own existence alone. After everything he’d done, it’s what he deserved.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonshik makes a terrible blunder; Hakyeon and Taekwoon learn to communicate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need some kind of warning here...perhaps for negative self-talk? I don't think it's necessarily triggering, but it's just angsty and emotional and made me hurt. So, at least you know what to expect.

“T-Taekwoon, I’m going to be late,” Hakyeon complained half-heartedly, leaning back into the kitchen counter with a soft moan.

The angel, seeing The Dancer fresh from the shower, wearing only his stretchy dance pants, his hair damp and skin glistening, had immediately advanced on him, drawing him into a dirty, open-mouthed kiss, then fell to his knees, mouthing at the thin material until Hakyeon practically collapsed against the quartz countertop.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes,” the angel responded, slipping the fabric down over his hips and taking him into the slick heat of his mouth.

Hakyeon had created a monster. He had been a terrible influence on a pure, virtuous angel. He should have established some kind of ground rules while he still had a chance. He didn’t stand a chance… His vision went blurry. What had he just been thinking?

“Fuuuuuu—” Hakyeon exhaled.

Taekwoon had improved at this particular act immensely over the past couple of weeks, and Hakyeon couldn’t help but think that perhaps male virginity was a highly underrated commodity, because what Taekwoon lacked in technique and skill, he more than made up for in sheer enthusiasm.

Hakyeon had never felt so powerful in the bedroom as he did with Taekwoon, who seemed to be deliberately empowering him. He’d never been any kind of Don Juan. He’d never been the one to pursue a man, or do the seducing, let alone the teaching. He’d never really been in charge in any way, so this abrupt change in the usual power dynamics was intoxicating.

At first, Taekwoon had been so naïve, so innocent, so hesitant, Hakyeon had almost been afraid of tainting his purity, but now he could feel his wanting through their bond as clearly as he felt his own desire, and it was only natural to give in. Now, Taekwoon’s eagerness and ever-escalating confidence was completely breathtaking. And there, on the floor, forgoing the usual sweet kitten licks and gentle teasing, Taekwoon had all but swallowed him whole, and Hakyeon was left gasping, growing rock-hard in his lover’s mouth, as Taekwoon grabbed his ass in both hands, forcing him deeper into his throat.

Every time, the rush was overwhelming – it felt better than the best possible high. The angel’s love and longing combined with his own, flowing through them both, building and growing like his impending orgasm until it could no longer be denied and his vision whited out, his knees buckling, so he was only held upright by Taekwoon’s strength and the resistance of his elbows on the countertop.

Taekwoon swallowed every pulse, always hungry for more, then held him gently for just a moment, allowing him respite from the sensitivity, before carefully sliding off.

“And we have five minutes to spare,” the angel smirked up at him. Hakyeon whimpered.

He lifted Hakyeon off his shaky legs, slid his pants back into place, and carried him to the sofa. The Dancer groaned.

“How am I supposed to dance now? I feel like my bones have all turned to liquid.” Taekwoon kissed over his bare chest, humming a noncommittal response.

“Maybe I should just skip class,” Hakyeon mused, slipping a hand over the back of the angel’s head as he teased the dancer’s nipple with the tip of his hot tongue. Goosebumps raised up over his whole body.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Taekwoon smiled, finally lifting his head to gaze into Hakyeon’s eyes. “You go to your classes, work hard, dance well, and I’ll let you fuck me when you get home.”

“I have two classes this afternoon - I’ll be too tired from dancing,” Hakyeon whined, trying to ignore the warm jolt of arousal at the sound of the filthy word on his angel’s tongue.

“You won’t.” Taekwoon’s said confidently, eyes sparkling. “But even if you pretend you are, I’ll just…ride you instead.”

Now _that_ was something to look forward to. They hadn’t done that yet – Taekwoon had said he still felt too shy. Hakyeon hopped up. “You know, I think I’m feeling a bit better now.”

The angel chuckled. “I thought you might be.”

Checking the clock, Hakyeon finished dressing quickly, bundled up from the cold, attempted a quick peck on Taekwoon’s lips (which quickly escalated until Hakyeon had to physically pry himself out of his boyfriend’s arms), and headed out into the street pondering his newfound energy. He wasn’t _that_ much of a hoe, to really need sexual motivation to go to his lessons, but after he and Taekwoon would make love, he always ended up feeling more energetic, not less. Strange, but convenient. Especially now.

On his way to the studio, Hakyeon was in a _very_ good mood, likely still high from the endorphins. He was practically skipping down the street, smiling at passers-by, and looking like some drunk-in-love cinematic stereotype, especially when the snow flurries began dancing around him, flushing his cheeks pink with cold. It reminded him of his and Taekwoon’s first kiss, and he hugged himself with happiness until he had to sling his bag back up to his shoulder as it slipped.

He bounded up the steps from the street into the warmth of the brick building, unlooping his scarf from around his neck, and ruffling his hair after removing his knit cap. He hung them on a hook in his usual spot, along with his thick winter coat, and slipped off his boots, padding up the stairs in his socks.

When he got to the ballet studio, it seemed unusually crowded, and even more unusually, hushed, save for nervous murmurs between the students. All eyes were on him as he entered, and he paused in the doorway awkwardly.

Spotting a couple of his friends in the corner furthest from the window, he scooted along the wall toward them and dropped to his knees next to his bag.

“What’s going on?”

“Assessors,” Youngjae whispered.

“They’re from the SBT,” Ji Hee added.

He glanced over his shoulder. His ballet instructor was leaning on an unfamiliar cane and talking animatedly to the strangers, a man and a woman, both in business dress, but with unmistakable signs of dancers’ bodies beneath the formal attire.

“Why are they here?” gasped Hakyeon. He could practically feel the blood draining from his face. The nerves formed a fluttering mass in his belly.

“To see you, of course,” Ji Hee replied, her eyes wide.

“What?” Hakyeon was stunned. She had to be joking, right? He was one of the oldest in the class. He’d long since outgrown any chance he had of getting recruited by a company, hadn’t he?

“Mark my words, they’ll be in your contemporary class, too,” Youngjae said, a knowing smile on his face.

“You really think so?”

“I overheard her say your name before you got here. But you can bet I’m going to be dancing my ass off today and fighting to steal your limelight,” he smirked.

“We’re not competitors,” Ji Hee argued.

“As long as _they’re_ here, we are!”

Hakyeon bit his lip, resisting the urge to send a panicked text to Hongbin (it could wait until between classes), and did some extra stretching instead.

Taking a quick peek in the mirror, he cringed. He adjusted the neckline of the shirt he was wearing to try to hide the red bruises scattered over his shoulder and collarbone. Taekwoon had also recently discovered just the right way to suck on Hakyeon’s skin to leave a mark. Not a lasting bruise, as he was still quite distraught over the idea that he could _ever_ be compared to Caleb in _any_ way, but little red blooms painted on Hakyeon’s skin like flowers, marking the human as his. Hakyeon liked these fixed reminders of their lovemaking, and occasionally demanded more, when the last set had begun to fade. (Hakyeon wished that the marks he left on Taekwoon in return would endure, but they always faded away before his eyes. Angels, apparently, couldn’t bruise.)  But on his own very human body, he typically left them pridefully on display; today, though, he wanted to look professional, and adjusted the stretchy material accordingly.

He tied his shoes and flexed his insoles, then stood, grabbed the barre and began to loosen his muscles. He could feel eyes on him and did his best to pretend he didn’t notice. It was easier if he just didn’t look at them. It wasn’t that he was shy, by any means. He absolutely loved performing. He loved to be watched. He craved the attention and the admiration, and often joked that he was just like Tinkerbell and needed applause to live. But it was different when your entire future could potentially be hanging on your small audience’s opinion. He swallowed back a wave of nausea.

“Class, attention,” his instructor called, and everyone fell silent immediately. “As you can see, we have some visitors today. They’ll simply be observing, so don’t be nervous, and just dance as well as you always do.”

Hakyeon wanted to laugh. She was a dragon on her best days and only rarely doled out praise to her dancers. She apparently was on her best behavior today as well. He wondered briefly if it was the professionals in their midst, or if she’d also hit her head when she sustained her ankle injury and reversed per personality.

They went through their usual warmups, and as his muscle memory took over for his brain, Hakyeon was slowly able to relax into the familiar movements. He concentrated on his form, the way it made him feel, and before long, he could see his own dreamy expression in the mirror and couldn’t help but note how beautiful he looked. They moved on into the choreography.

“Changement, changement, and vite, and vite...”

Their instructor pounded the floor with the cane as she called out instructions to the dancers as they went up in sets of three to perform. The class were all eyeballing the stick at this point with more concern than the judges, as now she was armed with a weapon to go along with her verbal lashings.

Everyone except Hakyeon, who she was eyeing with something between pride and smugness He had never danced better in his life than he’d done in the past couple of weeks. He felt more energetic, stronger, more flexible… He wasn’t sure if it was due to finally being completely injury-free for the first time in twelve months, or if maybe he was just in a very good mood due to the quantity (and quality) of heart-pounding, toe-curling sex he was now getting on the regular, but he couldn’t remember feeling this good in his entire life.

And today, in this class, in front of judging eyes, he was not just good; he was perfect. And it was no wonder, everything in his life was just better: music sounded better, food tasted better, his hair looked thicker and shinier and his skin was absolutely flawless. And he’d never danced with such technical precision.  As he leapt into his tour jeté, he actually heard gasps from the other students, as his height, extension and flawless landing were unparalleled by anything they’d seen.

“And chassé en tournant,” his teacher chanted.

He executed the steps and as he moved through the last movements of the piece, he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye at the two judges looking at each other with acquisitive expressions.

The whole class applauded when he was done.

As it turns out, Youngjae had been absolutely right about the assessors coming to his contemporary class as well. He smiled at them once when he caught them looking at him as he stretched but did not attempt to make any other kind of interaction. He danced just as well in contemporary as he had in ballet, and if he’d been skipping on his way to class, he was practically floating on his way back home.

He burst through the front door with his usual clatter, feeling on top of the world.

“Welcome home, love,” Taekwoon said. He was lying on the couch, Ink perched on his chest, as he rubbed between the cat’s soft triangles.

Hakyeon lingered in the doorway until he was sure he had Taekwoon’s attention, then pressed play on his mobile phone’s music player, and a slow, sensual tune emerged from the built-in speaker. The Dancer leaned against the doorframe, sliding down the edge seductively, as though he were working his way down a pole, and Taekwoon raised his eyebrows in interest. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Ink hopped down with a look of disgust, and headed for the bedroom.

“That’s not a safe place, either, Inky,” called Taekwoon after his retreating tail.

Hakyeon laughed, and came in, letting the door shut behind him.  “I am having the best day!” he announced, placing the cell phone on the kitchen counter, letting the music continue to play.

“What happened?” Taekwoon scooted up on the couch so that he was more reclining than laying down, and bent his knees to make room for Hakyeon, who didn’t join him, having too much energy to sit still.

“You know how I told you that I’ve been dancing better than ever lately?” Taekwoon nodded. “Well, there were some people from one of the professional ballet companies there today, and I danced _perfectly_ for them! If I don’t get a call for an audition, I’ll eat Inky!”

He danced around some more, while Taekwoon looked horrified. “Why would you _do_ that?”

The Dancer stopped, confused, and looked at the angel. “Oh…jeez, Taekwoon, it’s a figure of speech. It means I’m confident; I wouldn’t really _eat the cat_ , you ridiculous thing!”

Taekwoon exhaled hard and held a hand to his heart. “Thank goodness. I thought you’d lost your mind.”

Hakyeon rolled his eyes so hard he thought for a moment they might get stuck pointing back at his brain forever, but chuckled, regardless. “Aigoo...”

He reached out his arms.

“Dance with me!” The angel frowned.

“I don’t know how.”

“But you you’ve watched so many times!” Hakyeon argued.

“I have Watched, but that doesn’t mean I know how it is done. It’s like a type of magic.”

“It’s not magic. All it takes is practice. Here, I’ll show you.”

Hakyeon continued holding out his hands, smiling, and making grabby fingers. Reluctantly, Taekwoon took the proffered hands and rose to his feet with that fluid grace he didn’t even seem to know he had.

“Keep this hand in mine and place the other here,” Hakyeon instructed, settling Taekwoon’s hand gently on the small of his back. Taekwoon bit his lip. Hakyeon raised his own hand onto the slightly taller man’s shoulder.

“Now, to start, just sway. Feel the music. Feel me.”

They moved together, very slowly. Taekwoon was more coordinated than he’d let on, and it wasn’t long before he’d warmed and relaxed to the soft slow beat of the music, and the rhythm of their combined heartbeats. The angel leaned in closer and brushed their lips together, the faintest of touches. Hakyeon could feel his arousal, and his breath whispering warmly on his ear.

“Hakyeon…” suddenly he broke off, pulling away. Just then, a knock sounded.

“There’s someone at the door,” he finished.

Oh, for fuck’s sake…

Hakyeon sighed, heading to the front door to hide his obvious disappointment. He was going to have Taekwoon make good on his promise from the afternoon, sooner or later. Preferably sooner, but peeping through the hole in the door, he saw Wonshik’s smiling face.

“Cockblocked,” he groaned under his breath and Wonshik grinned. He opened the door, knowing he couldn’t exactly turn his landlord away. Especially when his landlord knew _exactly_ what he was intruding on and was doing it anyway.

“Greetings, friend and loved one,” the Malakhim announced, his pink and aqua sneakers fading away as he crossed the threshold, to be replaced by slippers that looked like Sasquatch feet. He padded into the living room where Hakyeon was smugly pleased to see Taekwoon glaring at their unexpected guest.

“And which of us is which?” Taekwoon asked, flopping back on the couch grumpily.

“Oooh, The Watcher is finally learning to make jokes!” Wonshik announced happily, plopping down next to him.

“I know how to make jokes,” the other angel sighed. “I simply choose not to. Why are you here, Wonshik?”

The dark-haired angel reached over to muss Taekwoon’s hair. “For two reasons, my dearest friend. One, I wanted to make sure you were still alive, since you haven’t been home in two weeks.”

“You knew I was still alive, because of the bon---”

“Apparently he doesn’t know humor _that_ well,” Wonshik interrupted, in an aside to Hakyeon, who folded his arms over his chest, amused at their all-too-human interactions, and leaned up against the counter.

“And two,” Wonshik continued, “Because I wanted to see if you were coming to my show tomorrow.”

“Hongbin already asked, so I’m sure you already know the answer to that question. And if you didn’t, you could have called me,” Taekwoon argued. “You just wanted to mess with us. I wonder why that is.” He made a show of rubbing his chin, pondering. “Jealous, maybe? Still haven’t managed to muster the courage to get Hongbin--”

His voice broke off at Hakyeon’s dark glance. Wonshik raised his eyebrows.

“Says the twenty-five-hundred-year-old virg—"

Pretty soon they were going to be hurting each other’s feelings. ‘ _Boys_ ,’ thought Hakyeon.

“Yes, Wonshik,” Hakyeon interrupted. “We’re planning on going to your show with Hongbin. I’m really looking forward to it. I’ve never seen a professional rap concert before.”

“You won’t be seeing one tomorrow, either,” Taekwoon grumbled. “Professional…”

Wonshik grinned. “Why don’t you go change your diaper, Woonie? Something stinks.”

Taekwoon stuck his tongue out at Wonshik.

“I’m going in the bedroom to lie down. Let me know when he leaves, yeah?”

The angel slipped out of the room and shut the door behind him.

“Oh good, he’s gone,” Wonshik said, happily.

“So, is there a specific reason you’re interrupting sexytime and antagonizing my boyfriend?” Hakyeon asked, not able to find it in himself to be mad. Taekwoon was so cute when he was pouting and he was really looking forward to teasing the angel into showing him how much of a man he really is.

“Truthfully, I just wanted to check on you,” Wonshik said. “Taekwoon is always here, so I haven’t been able to see you alone, and I figured there might be things you were curious about that you might not feel comfortable enough to ask Taekwoon.”

He glanced at the bedroom door.

“Obviously those things would have to wait, since he’s still here, but the offer stands, if you have anything you want to know, you’re welcome to ask.”

Hakyeon wasn’t sure he had anything to ask that needed to be hidden from Taekwoon, but he appreciated the gesture. The only thing he was really curious about was something he wasn’t sure he’d even have the guts to ask Wonshik, private or no.

“So, you do have questions?”

“Questions?” Hakyeon asked, feigning innocence.

Wonshik smirked. “Even if I couldn’t feel it, it’s written all over your face. I know there’s something you want to know.”

Oh, crap. Hakyeon had forgotten about that. Taekwoon had said that the other angels he had bonded with would have a certain bond with him as well.

“Don’t worry,” Wonshik smiled, as though he were reading his mind. “It’s not strong since I’ve only ever touched you once.”

“When did you touch me?” Hakyeon asked, bewildered.

“When you came over looking for Taekwoon that day he ran out on you. I touched your arm. I apologize, I should have asked permission before doing so. He was quite angry with me.”

It’s not that Hakyeon particularly cared about that. He liked being touched and hadn’t even noticed that Wonshik had done it. He was now concerned about what he knew, though, and whether Wonshik would be able to figure it out through him. Wonshik didn’t know about Ken and Hongbin. He shouldn’t be thinking about Hongbin. Shit, he thought about Hongbin. Shit! He did it again!

Wonshik laughed. “For what it’s worth, all I can really feel are little glimpses of your emotions. Like right now, you feel stressed, but I could have read that on your face anyway. I’d know if you were ever in danger, though, so that could be useful. Don’t panic. I can’t read your thoughts, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

Hakyeon’s relief was palpable, and though he didn’t laugh at him again, Wonshik still looked thoroughly amused.

“So, what are you curious about?” he asked, returning to their previous course of discussion. Hakyeon sighed.

“It’s not a question, really,” he hedged, embarrassed. “Taekwoon has been very forthcoming about answering the questions I had. I was just wondering…can I see your…” He trailed off, blushing.

Wonshik arched a brow. “My what, exactly?”

“Your…never mind….” Hakyeon flushed an even deeper shade of crimson and Wonshik burst out laughing again, unable to resist.

“I’m just playing with you. You want to see my wings? You’ll be disappointed. His are prettier,” he smiled, shrugging. He moved into the space closer to the television where there was more room, and let them appear, shimmering into existence as if from nothing.

Hakyeon inhaled a single shaky breath.

Wonshik’s wings were a radiant glowing purple, like neon, but darker, such as if viewed from underwater. He wouldn’t have said that Taekwoon’s were more beautiful, necessarily, but they were translucent, like a dragonfly’s. Wonshik’s were more milky and opaque. Not lesser. Just different. He wondered if they would feel different. Touching Taekwoon’s was something like touching silk, the way it rippled beneath his fingers, not feeling like feathers at all. Wonshik’s looked almost slippery.

“Can I tou—” he started to ask, reaching out a hand shyly.

“Absolutely not,” Taekwoon said, bursting from the bedroom immediately and snatching Hakyeon’s hand from out of the air, holding it firmly in his own. He began kissing Hakyeon’s knuckles and glared at his friend possessively.

“Are you sure, Taekwoonie? I don’t mind,” Wonshik sing-songed, with an impish grin on his face. Taekwoon just stared back, murder in his eyes.

“Hyung, you don’t have to be jealous. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Hakyeon scolded.

Wonshik giggled as his wings blinked away again and he turned around to face the two of them. “Oh, Hakyeon, you’re so cute… Our wings are, shall we say, something like what you’d call an erogenous zone? If I were to allow you to touch my wings, as friendly as our relationship is, I don’t think I’d be able to help getting a bit worked up. Unintentionally, of course. Taekwoon, as your lover, is right to be mad at me for that one. It would have been the same as if I were encouraging you to caress my inner thigh.”

Hakyeon wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“He knows,” Wonshik said, giving Taekwoon a look that distinctly said, ‘ _stop it_.’ “I was just messing with him because he’s so protective of you. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s adorable.”

Leaving Wonshik still standing, Taekwoon maneuvered Hakyeon over to the couch and curled up into his side, continuing to shoot his friend the occasional stink-eye as he sank into the chair.

“Are you going to tell Hongbin?” Hakyeon asked, thinking again of the angel’s lovely wings. Wonshik’s face sobered.

“Not right away, if I can avoid it. But if he wants to stay with me, I’ll have to, eventually,” he said honestly.

It didn’t miss Hakyeon that Wonshik had specified ‘if Hongbin wanted to stay with him,’ as opposed to the idea that he might not want to be with Hongbin. Apparently, the elder angel had feelings for his friend that he perhaps hadn’t quite shared with Hongbin yet. Hakyeon was so busy thinking about the implications of Wonshik’s words that he almost missed the rest of Wonshik’s thought: “Only so many years could possibly pass before he realizes I’m not aging.”

Hakyeon froze, every other thought fading from his brain like smoke. _That_ hadn’t even occurred to him. Taekwoon wasn’t aging. Taekwoon _wouldn’t_ age. Hakyeon would grow old and die and Taekwoon wouldn’t.

Taekwoon must have thought of that long ago, but he’d never said a word. The wave of hurt hit Hakyeon so abruptly, with such intensity, that Taekwoon, next to him, physically flinched.

He looked over at the angel, who was now glaring at Wonshik. The other Malakhim looked ashamed. Taekwoon slowly turned to meet Hakyeon’s eyes instead. Hakyeon could see himself in his lover’s thoughts, like a reflection. His own expression looked stricken; Taekwoon looked resigned.

Wonshik swore under his breath.

“I’m really sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to bring that up. I hadn’t realized it was something you hadn’t discussed yet. I mean, um, at least with you guys going at it like rabbits, and Taekwoon giving you so much of his energy, your aging must already be slowing down a bit, right?”

Taekwoon spun to look at his friend with a horrified expression.

“What do you mean?” Hakyeon asked, alarmed.

The other angel looked like he was starting to panic, and babbled, “Well, just that…I mean, you must have noticed, right? You’ve had more energy…been more…I don’t know, stronger? Physically?”

“Fuck, Wonshik! Can’t you let _me_ explain all of this to Hakyeon?” Taekwoon finally burst out, his voice cracking from volume and overuse.

Hakyeon swallowed the anger that was starting to build inside of his gut and turned to Taekwoon. “ _When_ were you going to tell me about this?”

“It just hadn’t come up,” the angel stammered. “At first, I didn’t realize it was happening. I mean, I knew it would make you feel a bit better, stronger, healthier; just not to the extent that it has. I’ve never been with a human before and I’m not a particularly powerful angel. And I’d told you that celestial energy leaves traces in humans that day at the theatre, so I’d assumed... But by the time I realized, you were so happy with how your dancing has improved, that I didn’t want to make it sound like…”

Hakyeon felt numb. He should have known. He should have realized, when Taekwoon knew that Hongbin and Ken had been together. He should have been able to put the pieces together. It wasn’t his hard work at all. It wasn’t his physical well-being. It wasn’t his talent. It wasn’t his positive attitude. It was Taekwoon the whole time. Taekwoon’s energy.

“Like your energy is the only reason I’ve been getting any of this attention for my dancing.” Hakyeon’s voice was completely flat.

“No, it’s not like that, Hakyeon,” he protested.

“Then what is it like?” he burst out, shattered. “I knew this was all too good to be true. I’ve never gotten scouted. Never. Not until you started giving me this energy, right? You’ve been _improving_ me, like I can’t do this on my own. Like I’m not good enough as a human; I have to be more like _you_.”

“No, my darling! No, no, it’s not like that at all. You are perfect. Perfect. Just as you are. Just as you’ve always been.”

Wonshik had stood and started edging his way to the door, back to the wall, like he was in grave danger. Which may have been entirely accurate, given the way Hakyeon’s eyes had begun to glow. The dancer could see their reflection in Taekwoon’s eyes. Perfect. Just what he fucking needed. He wasn’t even fully human anymore, he was a _freak_.

“So, yeah, uhh…see you at the show tomorrow?”

“Get out, Wonshik,” Taekwoon demanded. Wonshik seemed more than eager to comply, even more so when Hakyeon snapped, “You get out, too, Taekwoon.”

The last thing they heard from Wonshik was, “Shit,” as he slipped beyond the veil. Neither of them so much as glanced at him as he made his escape.

“What?” Taekwoon looked at Hakyeon, his expression devastated.

“I want you to leave right now,” Hakyeon said. “I need time.”

“How much time?” Taekwoon whispered, grief-stricken. Hakyeon almost winced. He could feel the anxiety and hurt flowing through the angel, but he didn’t want to hear excuses and explanations right now. He needed to process all of this and he couldn’t do it with Taekwoon arguing away his own hurt.

“I’ll…call you…” Hakyeon said. “Just, please go. I need to be by myself right now.”

He knew he was on the verge of breaking down, and he could tell that Taekwoon was, too. They’d never fought. Their connection had never felt this kind of strain. Hakyeon had always yearned for more. He’d never tried to close it off. It hurt more than he ever could have expected.

“Please don’t make me leave,” Taekwoon whispered. “I’ll go in the other room. I’ll go outside. I’ll be invisible. Just…I can’t…I can’t be without—"

“I’ll call you.”

The Malakhim’s face crumpled, and he moved quickly, obviously trying to keep Hakyeon from seeing how much he was being affected. He closed his eyes, stepped back, and opened the veil. Hakyeon stared until it closed around him and he disappeared.

The instant he was alone, the dancer dissolved into tears.

It had taken time to get used to the connection between himself and Taekwoon. He wasn’t used to someone being able to know him so intimately. He’d always wanted to be known, and always felt like he was a bit out of step, like no one would ever truly know him. Like no one would ever try. But then for someone to be able to understand his every complicated emotion, or know what he was feeling before he’d even unraveled that feeling himself, had been frightening. For weeks now, he’d been getting used to that bond, willing himself to take it deeper, to let himself be known and get to know the shy, sweet angel in return. And their connection was beautiful, simply beautiful. He didn’t want to force Taekwoon to feel all of this hurt and fear and anger.

Because deep down, he knew it wasn’t Taekwoon’s fault that Hakyeon hadn’t known about the energy improving his body, and therefore his ability to perform. He didn’t communicate the fact because he didn’t know he needed to. Communication would probably always be a challenge for the former Watcher, since he’d never had need to verbally communicate with someone before.

But this had sparked every fear Hakyeon had ever had. Every feeling of inadequacy suddenly seemed to rise up within him. He used to be so confident, so strong, so bright and brilliant and beautiful, all on his own. He didn’t need a boyfriend to give him praise and validation. He didn’t need an angel to enrich his abilities. He’d been good on his own. Great, even! That’s how he’s gotten this far already. He’d won competitions, he got into his first-choice school, he’d gotten his first professional roles all on his own, hadn’t he?

And when he started to lose some of that confidence, he did a very good job of feigning assurance, even when he wasn’t feeling it. He could still put on some eyeliner and lip balm, and stuff his butt into tight jeans and believe whole-heartedly that he looked good. And even when he felt like he might be getting too old, that he’d missed his best chances…he kept trying. He kept dancing. He kept working and learning and getting better, didn’t he? But for how long?

He let out a sob. Maybe he _did_ need the holy energy to make him good enough. Maybe he _hadn’t_ been good enough all along. And that was his fear, wasn’t it? He was never good enough. He’d never been good enough. He would never be good enough. Taekwoon was an angel. A _real_ angel. How could a human, a miserably fucking _average_ human, ever be worthy of him? And what would happen when Hakyeon got old enough to look like his father, or his grandfather? Would he still love him then? Would he abandon him? Would he leave Hakyeon feeling empty and cold and alone to die?

Hakyeon could feel his whole body trembling. Tears ran down his cheeks and he grabbed the candle holder off the coffee table and hurled it at the wall, needing some kind of outlet for the emotions he just couldn’t keep inside. The glass shattered all over the living room floor. Fuck, now he was going to have to clean all of this up, too.

He clutched at his hair, pulling. The pain outside was almost a relief from the pain inside. He needed it. Needed something. Needed….He needed Taekwoon.

Even with all of this fear of being abandoned and getting old and dying and accomplishing nothing and failing in all of his dreams, the only thing that made him _him_ , the only thing that, until now, had made life worth living, Hakyeon realized he wanted nothing more than to run to Taekwoon. He wanted to bury himself in the angel’s arms and cry himself to sleep and wake up safe in the warmth of his wings. Cutting off the connection between them was emotionally exhausting, to the point of physical pain. Hakyeon felt like he was being ripped apart, torn limb from limb. Like he was missing pieces of himself. Taekwoon couldn’t possibly be feeling that way, too, could he?

Still, he didn’t want to call for Taekwoon. He didn’t want to be weak. It was embarrassing. Humiliating. To send him away, then call him back so quickly. Taekwoon is not a dog, Hakyeon told himself, to just be dismissed and summoned at will. But the image of Taekwoon’s face, twisted in pain at being forced from his presence took over Hakyeon’s mind. How could he have hurt his angel like that? It was the worst form of blasphemy. He didn’t deserve Taekwoon. He didn’t deserve him, but he needed him, he needed him so bad.

He felt so ashamed.

Hakyeon hesitantly reopened their bond. He could feel Taekwoon instantly, even from whatever distance they were at, reaching out for him, begging for him. The angel’s desperation stole Hakyeon’s breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping. He’d never felt such a sudden rush of fear and despair. It was worse than his own, so much worse, more than his fragile mortal body could handle, and he opened himself immediately. He called Taekwoon’s name, aloud, in his broken voice, knowing that he’d hear him, no matter where he was, and in barely the time that it took Hakyeon to finish the word, Taekwoon was back in his living room, down at his feet, clutching his calves. He looked so small, curled up, his wings clenched around him so tight, he looked as though he were wearing the feathers on his skin.

Hakyeon had never witnessed anyone else having a panic attack, had only experienced them himself, but that’s how Taekwoon looked in the moment, gasping and shaking, and unable to speak or breathe or function, and when the water for his tears had expired, they’d begun to run golden, and left gold trails down his pale cheeks.

And Hakyeon knew, it wasn’t the fact that he’d asked him to leave, but the fact that he’d cut him off, silenced their bond. He could see it all in his head, through Taekwoon’s touch, it was almost exactly the way Taekwoon had felt when Jaehwan disappeared, only worse, so much worse due to his all-consuming love for Hakyeon. It had felt as though Hakyeon were dead. And that, he knew in that moment, was Taekwoon’s worse fear. That Hakyeon would go where the angel couldn’t follow, and he would be alone, alone with his broken heart for all of eternity. Hakyeon could feel the emptiness, just as Taekwoon had experienced it, and it felt like a fist full of barbed wire, clenching his beating heart.

The guilt hit him like a freight train.

“Oh, my darling, my love, what did I do to you? I’m so sorry,” Hakyeon cried. “I’m sorry. Don’t cry, don’t cry. I’m here.”

Taekwoon wailed, grasping for Hakyeon, until the human dropped to the couch and the angel buried his face in his lap, pleading, his voice raspy with pain and overuse, “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t leave me. Please, please, please…”

It was worse than barbed wire on his heart. The metal spikes now had poison and salt and electricity, and worse, so much worse, squeezing ever tighter. The agony was too much. He pulled the angel up to his chest and held him to his heart, stroking his hair, kissing his forehead, while gasping, “I’m sorry, Taekwoonie. I didn’t know. I won’t do that again. I won’t ever do that again. I promise. Oh, my sweet love…”

“But you will,” Taekwoon gasped, choking on his pain. “You will. You’ll die, and I’ll be alone, and it’ll be just like that. The silence, the…. Oh God…”

Hakyeon felt broken. Taekwoon’s despair, the desolation, had overtaken everything.

“Is there no way I can stay with you?” he whispered.

“Only God can make an angel,” Taekwoon choked, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “And I can’t die, and this is…this is what Jaehwan must have felt… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.

Hakyeon wasn’t even sure who he was apologizing to anymore, but he clutched Taekwoon tighter still, and they both wept until they couldn’t anymore.

Once the broken sobs had dissolved into wet sounds and short gasping breaths, Hakyeon lifted his head just enough to try to look Taekwoon in the eyes. The angel was clinging to him so hard he whimpered when Hakyeon made the smallest movement, but the dancer gasped at what he saw when he looked down. “Taekwoon, you’re bleeding.”

It shouldn’t even be possible, based on what Taekwoon had told him before: Angels couldn’t be injured by any mortal means. But there was golden blood on the area rug, on the sofa, and smeared on Taekwoon and Hakyeon both. Taekwoon didn’t seem to care, but Hakyeon pulled away as much as he could, to grab the tissues from the side table. Taekwoon clung to his waist until he returned.

“Woonie, I promise, I’m not going anywhere, but you have to let me clean you up.”

The angel didn’t fight him as Hakyeon carefully unwrapped his arms from around his body, but he began to tremble violently as he lost contact. The angel’s teeth were chattering.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Hakyeon murmured soothingly, as he moved Taekwoon’s wing away from his body with the back of his hand, to see the source of the blood.

The glass on the floor had cut into the angel’s legs as he crawled on his knees to grasp onto Hakyeon. And it shouldn’t have been possible. The Malakhim just looked confused as Hakyeon carefully removed the glass from his skin. It must have hurt, but he didn’t react, other than to lean into Hakyeon’s space, trying to keep as little space between them as possible.

“Come on, Taekwoonie, let’s take a shower,” he murmured, once he thought he’d gotten all of the shards out of the angel’s tattered skin.

The Malakhim allowed himself to be led to the bathroom and to be washed and dried, never saying a word. Hakyeon’s hands shook and he dropped the washcloth several times before he’d managed to get them both clean, and the guilt felt like a stone in his throat.

When they were both finally situated in bed, naked in each other’s arms, Taekwoon finally stopped shaking. His face buried in Hakyeon’s chest, the angel fell asleep, tears of golden blood still pooled in the corners of his eyes and leaking onto Hakyeon’s skin. But his breathing was deep and even.

“I will never leave you alone again, Taekwoonie,” the dancer promised, with all his heart, clutching his lover with a fervor that made his bones ache. “No matter what.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex is easy; relationships are complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With special guest appearance by a certain nihilist egg

Taekwoon woke early in the morning. It was still dark and his body felt cold as ice. He let out a whimper as he regained consciousness and groped for Hakyeon amongst the rumpled blankets.

He didn’t have to search long, as his lover’s hand immediately reached up to touch his cheek. He immediately put his own hand over top of it, nuzzling his face into The Dancer’s palm. Hakyeon was laying beside him, looking up at him with an indescribable expression: he looked tortured, his features strained. Taekwoon wondered if the human had even slept at all.

“What is it, Hakyeon?” he rasped, pulling his warm body close. “Are you okay?”

“You really love me,” The Dancer whispered like it had been a revelation, pulling the blanket up and readjusting it so it covered them both.

Taekwoon blinked slowly. He would have thought that was quite obvious, but for The Dancer, it seemed unbelievable.

“For me,” he said, his voice still hoarse from the evening’s ill treatment, “there will never be another.”

He meant it. He could feel it: the ache in his chest, the brittleness of his wings, the weakness in his limbs. He had never felt so mortal. What was it Hakyeon had said, when they were discussing the fates of angels…“Die of a broken heart?” Yes, that was right. It was his own fate, because if The Dancer’s days were numbered, so were his own. Fall, or fell himself, it didn’t matter anymore, because either way, he would never live a day without The Dancer again. The silence of his mind last night had guaranteed it.

As though seeking to pull him from his dark thoughts, Hakyeon’s lips pressed against his. They fit together perfectly, like corresponding puzzle pieces, and Taekwoon quickly grew dizzy from the taste of his lover’s tongue. Hakyeon broke the kiss first.

“Hakyeon,” the angel whispered brokenly as his human pulled away. He tried to draw him back - it was still too soon for them to be apart. The Dancer wasn’t leaving, though. He rolled onto his front and climbed overtop Taekwoon’s body. The angel wrapped his arms around him, to draw him close as The Dancer hooked his knees over Taekwoon’s hips, but Hakyeon resisted, bringing their faces close together, resting delicately on Taekwoon’s chest on his crossed arms, and gazed into his eyes instead.

The angel wanted to cry. Hakyeon had remembered. Even though it was not a human custom, he’d somehow known exactly what to do, to help Taekwoon’s peace of mind.

They looked at each other for a very long time, not speaking, not even in thought, and The Dancer allowed the angel to look at him, to read into his soul, for as long as he needed. All the while, Hakyeon threaded his fingers through Taekwoon’s white hair with one hand, stroking the other over his shoulder, his biceps, his chest, letting the tips of his fingers trail gently over his soft skin. It made what was already a very soothing exercise even more gentle and intimate, and though Taekwoon’s eyes welled up, his tears never spilled. After a long while, Taekwoon let out a full-body shiver, finally swallowing away some of the fear. He felt significantly better.

“You’re okay?” Hakyeon asked. The Malakhim nodded.

“Thank you.”

The Dancer shook his head. “You shouldn’t be thanking me. It’s my fault you were suffering in the first place.”

“You couldn’t know,” Taekwoon said, his voice failing. He cleared his throat a few times. “I didn’t know I was going to react that way, either.

“You asked me not to make you go. And I did. It is my fault,” Hakyeon argued.

Taekwoon kissed him again, to make him shut up, and it wasn’t long before Hakyeon was inside him, reassuring him in every way possible, that they were together, that he was loved.

A while later, they sat at the breakfast bar, Taekwoon quietly watching while Hakyeon devoured stew on rice. It was so much nicer now, having his truths in the open, not having to pretend to be human. The Dancer no longer argued when Taekwoon turned down food, and he seemed to be getting used to the way Taekwoon would just sit and observe him, whenever he was doing something Taekwoon did not have a need or desire to participate in. Watching was a hard habit to break.

“What were you planning to do today before Wonshik’s show?” Hakyeon asked, between mouthfuls.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Taekwoon whispered, doing his best to save his voice. “What did you want to do?”

Hakyeon bounced his knee on the rung of the stool. He suddenly looked a bit nervous.

“Well, I was thinking that I should probably start looking for a job. Six months is going to pass quickly, and I already feel like that’s far too generous of Wonshik for me to accept. So, I thought I would start filling out some job applications.”

The angel frowned. “You don’t need to do that. I can pay Wonshik if it bothers you.”

That didn’t seem to have been the right answer. The Dancer shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

“You shouldn’t have to pay for me, though. I’m a grown man; I am responsible for supporting myself.”

Taekwoon didn’t like that idea very much. It was true that The Dancer was perfectly capable of providing for himself, but how was he supposed to protect him if he was at work? How would he have time for his classes or rehearsals? Not to mention, how would he have time for Taekwoon? The angel took a breath. There was absolutely no way he was going to be able to say all of this aloud without causing offense or running out of voice first. He held his hand out to Hakyeon, who looked confused for a moment, but took it.

Taekwoon opened his mind up to show Hakyeon all of his concerns, then pointed out the fact that they’d only initiated the six-month suggestion to begin with because they had to pretend to be human. Money _really_ wasn’t an issue.

“I understand,” Hakyeon said. “But I would still feel better if I was contributing in some way.”

He’d slipped his fingers from Taekwoon’s hand as he spoke, but not before the angel was able to catch a glimpse of the real thoughts he’d been trying to hide.

“Don’t you dare,” Taekwoon said, distressed. “You are not quitting.”

Hakyeon startled.

“Taekwoon, I—”

“Everything you said last night about the ballet people only wanting you because of my energy – that was nonsense. You should not believe that for a single moment, because all the celestial energy in the universe wouldn’t make them want you if you didn’t already have the skill and talent they were looking for. I’m a gold-blooded celestial and they would never choose me over you; just because my body is strong doesn’t mean I have any talent in the art whatsoever. Yes, my power amplifies what you already have, but only in the sense that your body is a bit stronger, more energetic, more stamina.”

The human seemed about to argue.

“Do you know what it was that made me fall in love with you?” Taekwoon continued, before Hakyeon could fully open his mouth. “Long before we’d ever spoken, long before I knew your name, or even dreamed that I would have the privilege to know you, I loved you. I Watched you during every one of your classes, not because you’re beautiful, although you absolutely are, and not because you’re talented, although you unequivocally are, but because of the joy I could see in your face when you danced. It brought out a light in your eyes, and I could see the beauty in your soul expressed in movement. It was magic such as I have never seen. And I’ve seen heaven.”

The louder Taekwoon got, the harder it was to speak, and after a few moments of utilizing his raised voice, he’d begun to lose it until he was rasping the words to Hakyeon in what was barely more than a whisper.

“If you want to have a job, then of course, I want you to do what will make you happy. But don’t ever think that you should give up your dream for it. Not when you don’t have to. Because I _never_ want to see that light leave your eyes. I could never forgive myself if I allowed it to do so.”

The Dancer, by now, was examining the floor as though he’d been scolded. Taekwoon felt sorry. He didn’t want Hakyeon to be hurt, but it was just so ludicrous that he could possibly think that money could be more important than fulfilling his purpose and enriching his soul.

“Hakyeon,” Taekwoon whispered, in his failing voice. “Do you want me to try to stop giving you my energy? I don’t do it intentionally, but when we make love, it’s hard to control. Or if we…didn’t touch as often….”

He hated to even offer that option, since it sounded like a fate worse than death to his own ears. The Dancer just looked sad.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hold back with me,” he said quietly. “And I don’t want you to be afraid to touch me.” He looked up. “I just want to know that what I have, any success I have, if I have any at all, that it was…I don’t know…mine.”

Taekwoon nodded. “From now on, I’ll try not to.”

He felt a sort of sadness fall upon him as he picked up Hakyeon’s breakfast dishes and carried them to the sink. He didn’t like the fact that he’d caused the human pain, but he would do his best to ensure that he wasn’t doing so in the future, even if it meant his own.

He turned on the sink to let the water run, and as he began the routine task of cleaning and drying, he felt Hakyeon’s slender arms slip around his waist. The warmth of the human’s body seeped into his bones, and the human pressed a kiss into the nape of his neck.

“Thank you,” Hakyeon said. “For understanding.”

Taekwoon wasn’t sure that he did, entirely, but he was going to try. He kissed Hakyeon back, on his hair, rather than on the lips, and the human slipped away a few moments after that, settling at the kitchen counter with a laptop computer, while Taekwoon finished up in the kitchen, then wandered off to attempt to coax Ink from his sleeping place in the bathroom sink. He wanted to play, but encountered little cooperation from the lazy feline, so the angel attempted to soothe his frazzled nerves with a bath instead.

Once he’d slipped into the hot water, he let his mind go blank, and stared at the wall, taking no notice of time. Most of his bubbles had popped and the fragrance seeped back into the water when Hakyeon came in a little while later, holding his mobile phone.

“Wonshik called,” he said. “I wasn’t able to catch it in time. Your phone had fallen under the couch cushion and I couldn’t find it. Do you want to call him back?”

“Not now,” Taekwoon whispered. He wouldn’t be able to be heard over a phone anyway. “I’ll text him when I’m done.”

“Okay,” Hakyeon said, leaning against the edge of the tub. He didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry to leave. It felt almost like he wanted to say something, but he was delaying. Taekwoon waited patiently, wiggling his toes beneath the water as Hakyeon flipped the phone over in his hands a few times.

“Your phone case is so cute,” Hakyeon commented. Taekwoon’s eyebrows shot up. He knew the human was avoiding whatever subject he’d come in to speak about, but perhaps he could finally resolve the mystery of the phone egg.

“What is that egg?” Taekwoon blurted out, raising himself out of the water a bit more. “Do you know?”

Hakyeon blinked at him in surprise. “It’s Gudetama, the lazy egg. Did you not know who it was?”

“Wonshik wouldn’t tell me,” Taekwoon sulked. Hakyeon laughed at his pout.

“Why did you get a Gudetama phone case if you didn’t even know what it was?”

“Wonshik got me the phone and the phone case,” the angel explained grumpily. “And then he told me to stop interrupting him and to focus on more important things. Why would he get me an egg phone?”

The Dancer looked too amused. His eyes flicked from Taekwoon, to the phone case, and back…and he was trying not to laugh.

“You are laughing at me. You think I look like a lazy egg?” Taekwoon cried, and Hakyeon burst into peals of laughter.

“I’m sorry, but you look exactly like him right now! It’s so funny!”

Taekwoon sighed, slipping back into the water. He was going to have to buy a new phone case. But for now, he’d settle for being happy knowing that The Dancer was laughing again.

\---

Hongbin had been highly impressed with how quickly the posters for Wonshik’s rap show had gone up around town. From the time he’d sent Wonshik the edited photographs, it was under 24 hours before Wonshik had the poster design completed, all the printing done, and the posters up.

“How?” Hongbin had asked, completely stunned, when they’d walked hand-in-hand towards one of their favorite restaurants early the following evening. The brilliant red and black script over his photograph and details for the show catching his eye immediately from a nearby window.

“Street team,” the rapper had said cryptically, with a mischievous smile Hongbin wasn’t exactly sure how to interpret. But sure enough, the flyers and posters were everywhere. No one person would have been able to do it himself, so perhaps his boyfriend was a bit more popular than he’d realized?

Hongbin didn’t realize how much so until he’d seen the line outside the concert venue on Saturday night. Hundreds of people stood there (including lots of females, which made him feel a bit peculiar), fidgeting and antsy with excitement. He felt some cold glances send a chill up his spine as those at the front of the line stared at him, Taekwoon, and Hakyeon as they were allowed inside, ahead of the queue, their names at the top of the VIP list.

Wonshik, or should he say, Ravi, rose to greet them when they arrived at his dressing room. Because this was _not_ the Wonshik that Hongbin knew. The Wonshik he knew was casually elegant in dark jeans and expensive-looking sweaters or teeshirts with designers’ names plastered across them. Maybe a pair of prescriptionless glasses if he was feeling cheeky. He was sweet and cuddly and the amazing hard body he hid underneath had been a complete surprise.

This Wonshik, on the other hand, looked far more like his Ravi alter ego, with steps shaved into his undercut, artfully applied black eyeliner making his sleepy eyes dark and intense, gold chains around his neck, and the ugliest jacket Hongbin had ever seen draped over a sleeveless black shirt. Somehow, he managed to make it look good. Not just good, but _good_. Holy shit, Ravi was _hot_.

“Hey baby,” Wonshik rumbled into his ear, kissing him sweetly. Hongbin felt like his knees were going to start knocking together. That was too gentle a kiss for all that his boyfriend looked like he should be slamming Hongbin into the wall and having his wicked way. Hongbin kissed back, a little dazed.

“What do you think?” Wonshik asked the group as he twirled, showing off his costume to their little group.

“I’m impressed!” Hakyeon exclaimed. “You look like a real rapper!”

“I _am_ a real rapper,” Wonshik protested, pouting as best he could. That lip…on that tiny mouth…that Hongbin wanted wrapped around his…

Taekwoon shrugged. “You look like you stole Louis the XIV’s tablecloth,” he said brokenly, gesturing to his friend’s jacket. Hakyeon cackled at the joke, but Ravi smirked, sensing a change of subject.

“What happened to your voice, Taek? Too much action last night?” he teased. “Your little dancer make you _scream_?”

“I’ll make _you_ scream, if you keep that up,” Hakyeon threatened shrilly. Taekwoon didn’t bother with arguing, simply staring blankly for a moment, then lunging for Wonshik and attempting to drag him into a headlock.

The two friends scuffled for a moment, Wonshik shrieking about his hair, until Hakyeon managed to get ahold of Taekwoon and the other man immediately settled, pressing up against his side like an overgrown cat. Hongbin rolled his eyes, giving Hakyeon a grimace, and approached Wonshik, who had made a mad dash to the mirror to rearrange his shiny black locks.

“You look beautiful,” Hongbin said, reaching out to correct a few stray pieces.

“I’m supposed to look like a badass,” Wonshik mumbled.

 _Oh no. Don’t do it, Hongbin_. The boy inwardly groaned at himself for what he was about to say, but he knew Wonshik loved this shit. He pressed himself up against the other man and lowered his voice, leaning into his ear.

“Badass is what you do, not how you look. Want to show me later what a badass you are… _Ravi_?”

The other’s eyes snapped to his immediately and Hongbin actually felt his boyfriend’s cock jolt, through their layers of clothing, at his words. Wonshik’s eyes held a question. Hongbin was more than ready to give him the answer.

He pulled Wonshik’s head to the side, lightly, by the hair, then pressed his lips to the rapper’s neck. He, to his credit, was just allowing himself to be manhandled, and shivered when he felt Hongbin’s breath ghosting across his neck.

“I want you,” Hongbin murmured. “So bad.” He ground their hips together until Wonshik let out a little squeak. “And when we get back to your place tonight, I am going to ride you like I stole you.”

God, what a stupid line. If asked, he would _never in a million years_ admit to ever having allowed it to pass his lips. But judging by Wonshik’s blank expression, it had worked. He could practically hear the Windows shut-down noise as his eyes went dark. Then, he shook his head, as though literally clearing his thoughts, and grabbed Hongbin by the ass, dragging him into his body, kissing him harder than he’d ever done before.

Now _this_ was the way he wanted to be kissed. Hongbin’s entire body was tingling with Wonshik’s heat and he could feel the other man’s desire pressed up against his hip, and all the weeks of frustration would be totally worth it if this is what it was going to feel like when they finally gave in to what they both wanted.

An awkward scuffling caused Hongbin to finally turn his head away, lips feeling bruised and his body tense with longing. Taekwoon and Hakyeon were holding hands near the dressing room door, both looking pointedly into opposite corners of the room. Hakyeon was a bit flushed, though the corner of his mouth twitched as though he wanted to make some kind of comment. Hongbin appreciated the fact that they’d at least attempted to give them a little bit of privacy without opening the door into the hall where anybody could see them. He’d been so caught up in antagonizing Wonshik, he’d completely forgotten they were there.

“I’m going to be so good for you,” Hongbin whispered to Wonshik, one last time, before turning on his heel and casually walking out the door, leaving the man looking ravenous. Waving goodbye to Wonshik and hurriedly wishing him luck, Hakyeon and Taekwoon quickly followed, trading amused glances that Hongbin refused to acknowledge.

He and “Ravi” were _so_ doing it tonight.

\---

Taekwoon and the two humans found their way to the spot designated for them, just off to stage right, on the front side of the barrier. They’d have a better view than anyone else in the venue, he thought a bit smugly. And they hadn’t even had to pay for the privilege.

The doors had been open for some time, so the room had quickly filled, young people jostling and leaning into one another, struggling to get as close to the stage as possible.

Hakyeon was making friends with a couple of girls on the other side of the rail, asking how they knew Ravi, and what did they like about his music. They were very enthusiastic about their absolute love for him (Hongbin smirked, listening nearby), and told Hakyeon all about how he’d started in the underground and refused to go mainstream so that he couldn’t be controlled by the industry, and they were so admiring of his dedication to his art and unwillingness to sell out. Taekwoon almost wanted to laugh. Wonshik just viewed this as a hobby. Something he did for enjoyment. Something to take a bit of the monotony out of his endless years. He didn’t need the money, and he couldn’t afford to get too famous, so he must be staying part of the “underground” deliberately, just to try to stay out of the limelight. It was impossible to hide in small clubs, forever, though, especially if word-of-mouth was filling the clubs to capacity every time he took the stage. So that must be why he was here. Satisfying those who craved his presence for a while, before he disappeared again for a time.

Just then, the lights went dark and a throbbing beat began to play, and the audience became so loud with their screams, Taekwoon put his hands over his ears. When the lights came up again, Wonshik was center stage. He jumped, gave a shout, and the show began.

All their long lives together, Jaehwan had been the primary performer. Wonshik acted occasionally over the years, but he was always a bit stiff. Not like Jaehwan, who took to the stage like he was born to it. This rapping, though—Wonshik seemed to have taken well to the modern music style. He’d always been an excellent poet and composer, and between his writing and his stage presence, the performance was electric.

Taekwoon bobbed his head to the music, taking some time to get used to the sound. He’d never had much of an interest in hip-hop or rap, preferring classical, himself. But once he’d acclimated, he was really beginning to enjoy himself, even going so far as to give Wonshik a high-five as he passed their side of the stage. As the songs passed, he started stealing glances at Hongbin and Hakyeon, who were throwing their hands up excitedly and bouncing to the beat. It was nice to see them so animated. And Hongbin had apparently been studying Wonshik’s lyrics, because he even shouted them along with the fans, at parts.

It was only by chance that Taekwoon felt the additional jolt of celestial energy, the moment Jaehwan entered the venue. Taekwoon hadn’t been looking for it, and if he’d been paying a bit more attention to the show, instead of being lost in his own thoughts while looking at the humans, he would have missed it entirely.

What was that crazy angel even thinking? He wasn’t even trying to hide it. Taekwoon spun around, lucky to be so tall, as he could see over the heads of the other concertgoers, straight to the back where Jaehwan had tucked himself into the crowd, trying to blend in, in an oversized sweatshirt and a baseball cap. Their eyes immediately met and the feeling of the other angel’s presence blinked away, though he still stood amongst Wonshik’s fans.

There was an odd pause in the music. Taekwoon jerked his head up to look. Wonshik had messed up his lyrics. He covered it well, holding the mic out to the crowd, letting them sing the lines, but Wonshik had definitely felt _something_. He was squinting under the stage lights, seeking something in the crowd.

Would he still recognize Jaehwan’s energy after all this time or would it just feel like a blip, or a memory? Wonshik knew that Taekwoon was there. Hopefully he’d think it was just him? But no…Wonshik looked like he’d seen a ghost.

The rapper was doing a good job of downplaying his error, though. He was a professional. If Taekwoon hadn’t known him so well, he may not have even caught it. The audience didn’t seem to. He glanced over at Hakyeon, who was still smiling and bouncing, then to Hongbin, whose eyebrows had furrowed slightly. He must have caught the mistake. Or did he feel Jaehwan, too? He must, at least a little bit, through his own unbreakable bond.

Wonshik himself seemed to have given up on whatever he’d been trying to find – Jaehwan, or another mystery celestial. There was no point to it anyway. He had a show to do and couldn’t do anything about it now, even if he wanted to. The level of noise in the crowd went up with deafening screams as he stared straight at Hongbing while stripping off his blank tank, leaving himself gloriously shirtless, gold chains bouncing on his bare chest, letting water from his water bottle drip down over his washboard abs.

Taekwoon shivered, but not with desire like the others. That was the first time he’d actually _felt_ Jaehwan in so many years. It brought a prickle to his eyes with the rush of memories, both fond and painful.

He wondered what caused it. How could that have even happened? He’d hidden himself completely for almost a century. Was it because Jaehwan had gotten so close to Wonshik, he’d somehow made a mistake? Was it because he panicked and forgot? Or did he do it on purpose, hoping Wonshik would notice him? Taekwoon hoped that wasn’t the case, because Wonshik was going to have a very hard time when Jaehwan finally decided to confront him face-to-face. Showing himself when Wonshik was onstage in front of a crowd would not be a good situation. It _must_ have been a mistake. He wouldn’t deliberately do that to Wonshik. _Keep your head down, Jaehwan_ , he thought to himself with a deep sigh.

“What’s the matter?” Hakyeon yelled into his ear.

Taekwoon must have been frowning. His human was pressing against his side, examining him closely. He wrapped an arm around Hakyeon, his hand slipping up against the side of Hakyeon’s neck, to make contact with bare skin. _Jaehwan is here,_ he said directly into Hakyeon’s mind. The Dancer jolted. _Don’t worry, I don’t think he’s going to do anything._

 _Will they fight over Hongbin?_ Hakyeon asked back.

_No, darling. After the show finishes, I’ll go catch up with Jaehwan and make sure he goes._

Hakyeon nodded.

As the concert was ending and the adoring masses were screaming for an encore, Taekwoon slipped away, leaving Hongbin and Hakyeon to ambush Wonshik again in the dressing room.

Jaehwan was in the alleyway next to the club, just as Taekwoon had known he would be. He had been leaning against the cold brick, still and silent as a statue, until the other celestial approached. Then he stepped forward, his face silvery and desolate.

“Lee Jaehwan, what were you thinking?” The Malakhim said as powerfully as he could, in a voice like shattered glass. He was going to use up everything he had regained in his silence, but he didn’t really have a choice. His throat hurt.

The Power pulled his baseball cap off. His eyes were wild with fear and despair.

“I had to see him again,” he whimpered. “I had to see him again, Taekwoon, even just for a minute. I had to, I--”

“But why here? Why tonight? What if he saw you? While he was up there onstage? What could have happened?”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I just wanted to see him perform. I don’t think he saw me.”

He didn’t want to feel bad for Jaehwan, but he understood more than he would be willing to let on. It couldn’t be much different from that same wretched need that he’d felt when he ran from Hakyeon, staying invisible from him since he could not stay away.

“I don’t think he did either,” Taekwoon grudgingly acknowledged. “Or things would have been much worse for him. But I could feel you. What if he did, too?”

“I don’t…I don’t think….” Jaehwan was trembling so hard, Taekwoon wondered if he was going to be able to remain standing.

“Jaehwan,” Taekwoon interrupted, taking his friend’s hand. “I’m not judging you. I’m not. Truly. But how is this going to end?” The other angel bit into his lower lip, already gnawed cherry red, as was his custom when he was stressed.

“I know I’m going to have to face him sooner or later. I know. But Woonie--”

Taekwoon shook his head. This was getting them nowhere.

“Let’s take you home.”

Jaehwan didn’t argue. Or perhaps he couldn’t, because at his words, the angel simply sagged into Taekwoon’s side, still shaking violently, his face completely exhausted. Taekwoon sent a text message to Hakyeon, one-handed, as they walked, and promised he’d meet him at home as soon as he could.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ride it like you stole it 
> 
> (or) 
> 
> Bomb and bomb (big dick energy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Though I didn’t write it into the story, let’s operate under the assumption that they’ve already had the conversation about safety, and have made a decision based on health testing and commitment to monogamy within their relationship, that they will forego the use of protection. This is fiction – STDs are real. Use a condom, kids! THEN ride it like you stole it.

Wonshik barreled off the stage at the end of his show. His face hurt from smiling, but rarely in his life had he felt less like doing so.

He walked rudely past the staff in the backstage hall, who nevertheless bowed and told him he did well, and by the time he reached his dressing room, he was well on the verge of breaking down. He threw the door behind him with a slam and started gasping for breath. As though it would even help a being that didn’t need oxygen.

He felt hot. He stripped off his tank top and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. He grabbed a bottle of water off the vanity, dripping deliciously with condensation, and chugged it. It really didn’t make him feel any cooler. He threw the bottle across the room and pressed his face into his hands.

For one sweet, shining moment during his performance, he thought he’d felt Jaehwan again. And for that moment, everything was suddenly right in his world. He was on stage doing something he loved and making others happy. He was seen, appreciated. His beautiful Hongbin was gazing up at him with admiration and a passion burning like firecoals in his eyes. And his eternal beloved, Jaehwan, had returned to him. Refusing to analyze the conflicts or impossibilities of this scenario, he wanted to lose himself in that feeling, in that moment, and drown himself in it so he could live in it forever. But, so quickly, it was stolen away. Like a flash of lightning, or the winter’s first snowflakes melting on glass. He’d never thought to feel that pain of loss again.

Jaehwan couldn’t be back, because Jaehwan was dead. He _must_ be dead, because if he wasn’t, he would have come back to Wonshik after Henry died. Right? He must know that Wonshik would never stop loving him. He’d made that vow so many times it was practically carved into his tongue as well as in his heart. So, he had to be dead. His beloved was dead, and he would never been whole again.

But there had definitely been another angel. One that he knew, because the energy was so strong, so familiar. The stage lights had been in his eyes, the writhing mass of bodies disguising the other angel from his view. Possibly that "Ken", who believed that Wonshik had deliberately stolen Hongbin from him, who said that Wonshik hated him, so much so that he was willing to hide himself away, avoiding Wonshik at every turn. Wonshik couldn’t even begin to fathom who it might be.

Suddenly, the dressing room door rattled on its hinges as Hongbin and Hakyeon burst into the room, bounding with energy, and congratulating him on a performance that everyone loved. He smiled, grateful for the distraction from his thoughts, shaking hands and bowing to Hakyeon, then easily submitting to an overly enthusiastic Hongbin, who straddled his lap, wrapped his lithe body around his own, and began to kiss him with a filthy sort of aggression. Wonshik struggled to maintain his composure as the boy licked at his teeth, sucked on his lower lip, and dragged a groan from deep in Wonshik’s throat that was embarrassingly lewd.

Wonshik did his best to force down his memories, to eject them from his mind. The memory that had been lingering since Hongbin’s flirtatious words had collided with the ghost he’d managed to conjure in the crowd. It was going to be his first time with Hongbin. He’d only ever had one other first-time…with Jaehwan. And it was so very clear, still.

Jaehwan, holding his hand so tightly it made his bones ache. "Wonshik, do you love me?" he’d whispered. Yes, he did. He did.

Jaehwan, sucking gently on his finger; the heat of his mouth... "Aren't you curious?" he’d asked. He was. Wonshik wanted to know.

Seriously, fuck that angel that had nearly messed up his show. And fuck the memory of Jaehwan who abandoned him, leaving with nothing but a century’s worth of loneliness and regret. Because Hongbin cared for him. Hongbin wanted him. And he wanted Hongbin. Badly.

Suddenly, he couldn’t leave the venue fast enough. Mumbling apologies to an amused-looking Hakyeon, Wonshik gently placed a disgruntled Hongbin on a nearby chair and dashed out of the dressing room to alert the necessary staff to his departure and dole out quick apologies to those he may have offended with his abruptness. As he was conversing with the manager, Ji Min, he overheard Hakyeon’s departure as he laughingly told Hongbin to “ride it like he stole it.” Wonshik flushed a little, but finished his duties quickly, and pulled Hongbin out the back door into the back of a waiting taxi.

The moment the door shut behind them, they were kissing. The cab driver sighed and turned the radio up but didn’t say a word as he pulled into the evening traffic heading toward their destination.

Wonshik didn’t care. All that mattered now were the city lights casting rainbows over Hongbin’s pale skin, the scent of his hair, his soft lips pressing harried kisses into the neckline of his jacket, and the hands clenched tightly in the front of his shirt. Wonshik reveled in the feel of him: the sharp jut of his jawline, his broad shoulders… He slipped his hands downward, inside the boy’s winter coat. His body was so warm beneath his fingers, and he could feel the dips and ridges of muscle beneath the fabric of Hongbin’s clothing. He ran his hand down further, and Hongbin gasped into his lips as he palmed his crotch. Hongbin was hard, and Wonshik wanted more. He wanted to tear the clothes off him, lay him out bare, and leave his mark on every inch of him, make him his.

At the front door of his building, they spilled out onto the sidewalk, unable to keep their hands off each other. They slammed into a doorframe as they tried to kiss and run at the same time. Hongbin pressed Wonshik up against the wall in the elevator with the weight of his whole body, grinding their hips together until Wonshik felt like he could burst from longing, and then they crashed into the front door of his apartment, giggling, as Wonshik fumbled to press the correct buttons on the keypad. When the door was unlocked, it was a true miracle they didn’t simply fall to the floor.

The moment it was closed, though, clothes were being shed. Wonshik walked backwards towards his bedroom as Hongbin’s eager hands pulled at his jacket, then his teeshirt, both of which were cast haphazardly across the floor in the hall, then began fumbling with the buckle on his belt. It was all Wonshik could do to keep from just willing them away, but he knew he couldn’t reveal himself. At least, not tonight. It wasn’t the appropriate time for it. Hongbin latched onto his neck as he unbuttoned the front of Wonshik’s jeans, freeing his erection, his fingers softly brushing against the sensitive head and Wonshik hissed. He’d nearly released his wings just then and Hongbin had barely touched him yet.

Fuck. This was going to be impossible.

Passing by the doorway of his room, Wonshik pushed Hongbin to the wall this time, trying to regain a bit of his self-control, dragging the boy’s shirt up over his head and slinging it to the floor. Hongbin’s hands came to settle on Wonshik’s biceps then, and they pressed their bare chests together. Wonshik could feel Hongbin’s racing heart, his rapid breaths; he could smell the excitement pulsing through his bloodstream.

He ran his hands over Hongbin’s bare skin. The human’s skin was humming with energy, Wonshik’s own energy finally overtaking that of the other angel. It felt like a claim and the feeling was intoxicating. He stared into Hongbin’s eyes from only centimeters away and the boy flushed, burying his head in the side of Wonshik’s neck.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he muttered, drawing him back up by the back of his hair and kissing him again hard. Hongbin moaned, attempting to deepen the kiss, but Wonshik pulled away abruptly, taking Hongbin by the hand and pulling him to his bed. Wonshik sat down and Hongbin immediately climbed into his lap, pushing Wonshik in the center of the chest so that he lay on his back.

“Wait,” Wonshik whispered.

Wonshik took Hongbin’s face in his hand and gazed into his eyes again. It was a compulsion, a need. Hongbin likely wouldn’t understand, but Wonshik couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

“Why do you keep doing that?” the human giggled, trying to push away.

It was true, he’d tried frequently to lock gazes with Hongbin, but he was very shy about it. He almost always struggled with maintaining eye contact and often would just laugh uncomfortably or dodge Wonshik’s look.

“Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s just weird,” he said, trying to look anywhere other than Wonshik’s intense gaze.

“Look at me, baby,” the other man whispered, pulling Hongbin’s arms up around his neck. “I want to show you something. Trust me?”

Hongbin took a calming breath and his eyes rose, meeting his, unable to resist his deep, seductive voice. Wonshik threaded his fingers into Hongbin’s hair, dragging blunt fingernails over his scalp. Hongbin’s eyelids dropped, but didn’t close, keeping their gazes linked.

The human was breathing heavily, no longer giggling, as Wonshik pressed his other hand to Hongbin’s cheek, letting the bond open up between them. He’d resisted as much as he could before, but no longer. They both shuddered at the feeling.

Hongbin’s eyes didn’t flit away this time and Wonshik could suddenly feel every part of him. It flowed into his bloodstream like a drug and the angel felt a profound sense of relief at the intimacy. His human was beautiful, but surprisingly fragile. He hid the softest parts of him behind humor, and he’d been pushing others away for so long, the simple act of allowing himself to really be seen was terrifying. His parents had certainly done a number on him, teaching him to despise what he was, to be ashamed of his dreams. His former girlfriend had taught him not to trust. He even felt abandoned by Hakyeon these days, who spent all his time with Taekwoon, and it felt like Hongbin had been replaced.

Hongbin was also slightly conflicted over that other man, _that other angel_ , Wonshik corrected himself, but that was to be expected. He’d felt the celestial energy at it’s strongest, and it should have faded away over time, but didn’t. That meant the other angel had been deliberately touching Hongbin, leaving traces of himself on him, knowing that Wonshik would feel it. Knowing that it was going to leave Hongbin longing for him, for a level of energy that Wonshik simply didn’t have. The motherfucker was _mocking_ him, and yet...he was still weak for it. It still felt good. Wonshik still drank in the taste of the other immortal, appreciating it like a fine wine, wanting to draw it from the human entirely, to take it for himself.

Hongbin’s touch on Wonshik’s own mind was tenuous and delicate. He didn’t know what to do, or even what was happening. Wonshik allowed his own feelings to flood their fledgling bond: his affection, his desire, and even some of his memories. Hongbin took in a heavy breath.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, beginning to tremble, letting it fill him.

“Yeah,” Wonshik replied, leaning in to kiss him.

Hongbin gasped into the kiss. It must be overwhelming; Wonshik had been holding out on him. He felt gently for how Hongbin was reacting to the new sensation and was pleased with how much the human seemed to like it. Wonshik’s desire had ignited a stronger fire in his gut that the human was just beginning to recognize as not-his. It could only be Wonshik’s. The angel poured his feelings over him: sweetness, love, fierce protectiveness, a desire to take, to own. Hongbin whined loudly, rutting his hips against Wonshik’s. He was wanting. Badly.

“Are you ready?” Wonshik whispered.

\---

After feeling that, how could he not be? This intimacy was more than he could ever imagine. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew he wanted more of it.

Suddenly without the ability to form words, Hongbin reached for Wonshik, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the zipper down. Wonshik helpfully lifted his hips as Hongbin removed both his jeans and underwear at once, sliding down to the end of the bed as they traveled down his mile-long legs.

He was so beautiful. Breathtakingly so. As Wonshik laid there across the mattress, looking up at Hongbin, he seemed perfectly comfortable in his own skin, not a bit of insecurity at being naked. He lay quite still, letting Hongbin look him over, smiling slightly when their eyes met. Hongbin did his best to mimic that self-confidence, keeping his eyes on Wonshik’s as he removed his own pants, then crawled back up onto the bed.

His lover’s eyes were black and full of want and traveled over Hongbin’s body as though memorizing it’s every shape. They’d gotten each other off that one time before, but they’d never been completely, fully naked together and Hongbin was dizzy at how gorgeous Wonshik was, laid out for him, all his. His eyes were inviting, his smile was sweet, his muscles were beautiful, and his cock was…damn.

Hongbin couldn’t help remembering the first time he’d seen Wonshik this way. As they’d frantically made out in this very same bed, after a moment’s pause for consent, the other man had slipped his hand into Hongbin’s underwear and wrapped long fingers around him, stroking gently, but working up a rhythm that was just enough to drive Hongbin absolutely crazy. Hongbin went to do the same in turn, but Wonshik’s member had already made its escape, pushing up past the waistband of his boxers. He was big and hard and dripping down onto those perfect abs, just like now, and oh God, how the fuck was that supposed to fit inside him? Hongbin swallowed and worked up his courage. He guessed it was time to find out.

Slowly crawling up Wonshik’s endlessly long legs, Hongbin didn’t waste a moment in hesitation before drawing the flat of his tongue up the length of his cock. Wonshik jolted in surprise and his back arched up off the mattress. Hongbin wrapped his hand around the base and sank his mouth down onto Wonshik, moaning at the sensation. His skin was so hot and silky, and he tasted good – better than any man Hongbin had ever been with, not that there was a particularly long list, but there was still no comparison.

He traced the vein beneath with the tip of his tongue, then slurped at the head with obscene sounds that made Wonshik’s entire body quiver with pleasure. Soon, too soon, Wonshik stopped him, caressing and cupping his cheek, urging him to look up.

“H-Hongbin…Come here. I need you,” Wonshik murmured in a voice so low and delicate, Hongbin almost didn’t even hear it. He continued the climb up his lover’s perfect body, kissing his way, across taut, muscled abs, and swirled his tongue leisurely over a nipple before laying the full length of his body against Wonshik’s.

They kissed again, their mouths clashing with far less skill than sheer need. It was messy and wet and so hot, Hongbin felt like he were going insane. He was dizzy, blind to everything except the beautiful man beneath him. He could feel Wonshik, hard and sticky, pressed against his stomach and his own cock was pressing against the other man’s pubic bone. The pressure was just killing him.

Wonshik was running his hands over Hongbin’s body as they kissed, over his shoulders, down to his ribs, trailing along the bumps of his spinal column, then slipping into the little groove in his lower back, at the base of his spine. Hongbin went completely stiff, then shuddered, as the pleasure washed over him. Wonshik grinned at the surprised reaction.

“Really? Right there, huh?”

“Shut up,” Hongbin moaned against his lips, as Wonshik’s long fingers brushed over that spot again. He spasmed powerfully, unable to control his body when he was touched there. Something in the nerves sent jolts of electricity through his body, heat flooding between his legs, making him cry out to be touched more.

“Noted,” he winked. Hongbin tried to scowl, but couldn’t, as Wonshik’s hands trailed down, cupping his ass. He lifted Hongbin just a little, so they slid together, not nearly enough wetness for real pleasure, but the pressure and the drag felt good. Between kisses at the crook of his neck, Wonshik asked, “Baby, Hongbin, how do you want me?”

“Want you inside,” he whimpered, the needy sound embarrassing to his own ears, though Wonshik seemed to like it with the way he sucked harder at Hongbin’s delicate skin.

“Are you sure?”

Hongbin still wasn’t entirely sure whether he _could_ , but he wanted to. And he was pretty sure Wonshik was thinking the same thing that he was, though he didn’t want to bolster his boyfriend’s ego that much by admitting it.

“I’m sure,” he said with false confidence, though judging by the expression on his face, Wonshik was unconvinced.

“Alright, we’ll go slow.”

Wonshik wrapped his arms around him and rolled their bodies so that now it was Hongbin lying on the bed, Wonshik hovering over him. He kissed him once on the tip of his nose, on both cheeks, then on his lips before pulling back. Rising up so that he was on his knees, Wonshik whispered, “hands and knees.”

Hongbin rolled over, pleased to relinquish control. For as much as he’d teased Wonshik about possibly being a virgin, he was so glad that the other man was so confident and experienced. He raised himself up onto his knees, pillowing his head on folded arms. He felt breathless, exposed, but not nervous. For some reason, the nerves had disappeared as soon as Wonshik had coaxed him into looking into his eyes.

Wonshik retrieved a bottle of lube from the bedside table with a single long reach, never leaving Hongbin’s side for a moment, and settled himself behind him. Hongbin closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing as Wonshik spread him open and ran a single finger over his rim. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as he teased his opening.

“W-Wonshik, don’t torment me, I—” he mewled, then, “Oh God.”

The wet heat of Wonshik’s tongue pressed against him and he fought the urge to crawl away, mortified.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he started to chant, as Wonshik’s finger slipped inside, the apparently strawberry-flavored lube easing the way. Hongbin let out a long, drawn-out moan, and began muttering an amalgamation of nonsense as Wonshik took it in turns to fuck him open with his finger and his tongue. Soon, a second finger had joined the first and judging by the way it felt, he was thrusting his tongue between them as they moved inside, stretching him. Hongbin was too far gone to know for sure, though, as his mind was reduced to nothing more than light and sound and the sensation of Wonshik’s talented fingers and mouth, passing his lips as a desperate pleading for more.

He worked more fingers in carefully, in no particular hurry, and when Hongbin begged for him to “just fuck me already,” he’d just smiled and promised that he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

It felt like years, decades, of delicious agony before Wonshik finally deemed him as ready as he would be.

“Now?” he started to ask, but Hongbin, painfully hard and aching, pushed the other man over bodily, straddling him without any pretense.

“Yes?” Wonshik asked. His gentle, lidded eyes didn’t look sleepy anymore. They were glazed with lust and dark as black holes. Hongbin nodded, situating himself over Wonshik’s hips.

One hand on Hongbin’s hip, the other on his own hard cock, Wonshik guided himself to Hongbin’s entrance and the boy whimpered at the first stretch. He could feel concern, caring, gentleness flowing into him through their touch, seeking his acceptance, making sure he was okay. He pushed down, trying not to let his body tense from the initial pain. He knew it would pass. He leaned back, resting his palms on Wonshik’s muscular thighs, arching.

“Oh, fuck,” Wonshik moaned, appreciating the view. “Binnie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he panted, little huffs of breath escaping from his lips.

“Baby, if it’s too much—”

“No, dammit, I can do it. I want this.”

“Okay, okay. Easy,” Wonshik whispered, his hands rubbing soothing circles over Hongbin’s hips and belly. “You keep tensing up. You can take it, just relax.”

Hongbin took deep breaths, fighting to make his body unwind and pushing down slightly on each exhale. He jumped at the feeling of Wonshik’s fingers, moving gently over his opening, stretched so tight, but he was simply adding more lube to his length and over Hongbin’s rim.

“I’m happy to switch,” he murmured. “If it’s too much. Just tell me what you’d like.”

“I’d like you to stop talking.”

Ravi’s eyes crinkled with his smile as they pulsed against one another. Hongbin sank lower, slowly, carefully, and Wonshik sighed with bliss, breathing hard.

“Oh, yes. Just like that. You’re taking me so well. You’re such a good boy, my beautiful Hongbin. You’re so good for me. So tight. Oh God…” he whispered.

Hongbin whined at the unexpected praise but couldn’t deny that it turned him on a whole hell of a lot. He pushed harder, seeking more of Wonshik’s deep, sexy voice, wanting to please him.

And Wonshik was so patient, keeping so still, letting him go at his pace, all the while murmuring sweet nothings, stroking Hongbin’s body, letting him find which distractions worked best to soothe away the ache. Stroking Hongbin’s cock back to full hardness, teasing his nipples, caressing the smooth lines of his body, rubbing gently at his belly, which Hongbin felt _must_ be distended.

And oh, it hurt. It burned. It felt at moments like he would die, torn in two, but Wonshik was there, touching him gently, speaking to him sweetly, drawing away the pain with his hands, leaving him with a feeling of wellbeing, of peace. Then, suddenly, the threshold was crossed, and it felt so good, to be stretched wide, so full, so fucking full of this gorgeous man with fire in his eyes. The ache was there, but the pleasure, too, overwhelming it so that it barely existed. Oh God, he was so full.

Wonshik slipped his hands from Hongbin’s belly to his hips, and lay very still, his eyes shut tight and face strained with focus.

“Such a good boy,” he whispered again. “So tight. So perfect.”

Hongbin realized only then that all movement had stopped between them and Wonshik was fully sheathed inside. He twitched slightly, clenching down on the other’s hard cock. His lover moaned deeply.

“Look at me. Look at me, Binnie.”

He tried, but he felt like his eyes couldn’t focus, and it was overtaking all his senses. He blinked blearily, the world seeming to spin around him, until he found Wonshik’s face in the maelstrom. He forced his eyes to connect with Wonshik’s. Sweet, gentle Wonshik who was caressing his hips, spreading his ass apart with his big hands. Oh fuck, he’d never felt so full. It was disorienting. He loved it.

“You’re so sweet, Binnie. So beautiful.”

Wonshik turned his face into Hongbin’s hand and pressed fervent kisses across his palm.

“You feel so good inside me,” Hongbin whimpered, caressing Wonshik’s cheek as he leaned down closer to him for a single soft kiss, causing Wonshik’s cock to slip a little against his inner walls. “So hard. So big.”

Wonshik whined, his eyes fluttering with the effort to remain still, trying not to thrust as Hongbin sank back to the hilt, to ensure he wouldn’t hurt him. Instead, his fingers pressed firmly into Hongbin’s hips, as the human began to raise himself back up onto his knees, slowly, so slowly, until he was barely still inside. Then, as he sank back down, possibly even more slowly than before, Wonshik gasped, clutching at the bedsheets instead.

“Bin, are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Hongbin smiled, closing his eyes against the deep sensations, as he raised himself up once again, then fell back down, taking Wonshik’s cock deeper inside. And he heard the sheets rip beneath his lover’s fingers.

“Baby, I can’t do it if I’m hurting you. I know you’re lying to me. I know that I’m hurting you.”

He was hurting. But he was also getting the greatest pleasure of his life. There was no way he was going to stop now.

“Then you must also know that I like it. It feels so good, Wonshik. I want more. Harder.”

Wonshik cringed, squeezing his eyes shut, and raised his hips, pushing up into Hongbin’s body. He swore loudly as Hongbin wailed with the deep pleasure-pain it brought.

“Baby, oh Hongbin, I don’t want to hurt you…” Hongbin had just about lost his patience with that nonsense.

“Fucking wreck me, Wonshik,” he demanded. The other let out a growl.

“Babe, oh God, I…Babe, I need—” Wonshik keened, pushing up only a little, trying to resist, and Hongbin moaned low in his throat. Oh fuck, it hurt. It hurt so bad, so why did he want it so much?

Hongbin raised his hips, then dropped them again, a little bit faster again this time, then started to circle them slowly, opening himself up more, staring into Wonshik’s beautiful brown eyes. Wonshik put both of his hands on his face, staring into him with that heavy intimacy…and it started to feel different. Warmth filled his chest – a sweet adoration. He felt…whole.

The pain was fading away as he moved, and being replaced with a different burn of pleasure, which settled into a heat that built in his belly. It was almost like he could feel Wonshik’s pleasure as well as his own. It was so much, so much more. It was incredible.

“Oh fuck, Wonshik, that feels so good…”

As Wonshik’s cock pressed into that perfect spot inside him, Hongbin keened, beginning to ride him in earnest. Wonshik swore loudly, grabbing Hongbin’s hips to push him down onto his cock, fucking into him so much harder, and the boy cried out as he clamped his muscles down. Wonshik jolted, then dragged Hongbin down to his chest. He wrapped one arm around his waist, the other, hand spread out over the taut globes of Hongbin’s ass, keeping their rhythm, pushing down to keep him deep inside.

“Say it,” Wonshik moaned. “Say my name again.”

And he did. Hongbin cried out his lover’s name over and over again between kisses against his shoulder, his neck, his jaw, and onto his lips which felt more like a battle for dominance than an actual kiss. It was tongues and teeth and Wonshik’s fingernails digging into his buttocks, and his own nails leaving stripes across Wonshik’s biceps. Fucking Wonshik was like nothing he’d ever felt before and as his lover reached between them, to grasp his aching cock, the moment his fingers touched the sensitive head, Hongbin came, crying out with such ecstasy he forgot to move, his whole mind and body lost in a sea of roiling white.

Wonshik struggled to thrust with the way Hongbin was clenching tight around him, chasing his own release, but to his immense surprise, the instant Wonshik came, Hongbin orgasmed again. They released together, and Hongbin was even more full, hot liquid filling him in spurts, easing the slid of Wonshik’s cock inside him. And Hongbin collapsed on Wonshik’s chest, completely and utterly spent.

\---

It was late. Or early, depending on the human, Wonshik supposed. For Hongbin, it was quite late. He had a photo shoot tomorrow. The human was fast asleep, cradled in his arms, and Wonshik pushed back his hair tenderly to kiss his forehead.

That night, as they laid gasping in each other’s arms, Wonshik had whispered, “I love you, Binnie,” into his shoulder, quietly enough that hopefully Hongbin wouldn’t hear over his own panting breaths. It just needed to be said, because it was true. He said it again now, caressing his lover’s sleeping face, and the corners of Hongbin’s mouth twitched up into a soft smile.

That’s when he felt it. Celestial presence outside.

Wonshik curled his body protectively around Hongbin, his wings appearing to form a protective barrier around his love. It was an instinctive reaction, and it startled him when he realized what he’d done, but he prepared himself to fight or flee, if necessary.

There came a soft knock on the door. He reached out, seeking for a familiar signature to the energy. Taekwoon was there, and something else? Something more.

He glanced down at Hongbin, who was thankfully still asleep, and carefully released him, willing away his wings, and pulling a blanket over the human. As Hongbin subconsciously grabbed a pillow to cuddle in his place, Wonshik felt a burst of tenderness, followed by irritation at the intrusion. Why the fuck would Taekwoon be there in the middle of the night when he could just fade into his own room?

Wonshik slipped on a pair of boxers and pulled a robe out of his wardrobe. As he walked to the front entrance, grumbling, he fastened it loosely with the belt and whipped the door open.

“What?” he snapped, before seeing who was there.

In front of him, a smiling Sanghyuk stood in the hall, the same as always, with a nerdy teeshirt, blue jeans, and the ever-present red cloth tied over his eyes. To his left, a step behind, fidgeted a harried-looking Taekwoon.

“Good morning, loverboy,” Sanghyuk chirped, edging past Wonshik into his living room before he could possibly be stopped.

“Sanghyuk, what are you--?” he began, following, as Taekwoon closed the door behind them.

“Considering what you were up to, I thought it would be rude to appear in your home the usual way. So, I decided to knock. You’re welcome.”

“If you knew that I was…”

“Of course I knew. You were using the Lord’s name in vain often enough.”

Wonshik choked on his own spit. Can celestials have heart attacks? Because Wonshik suddenly felt like he was going to have a coronary. Or pass out. Or blow chunks. Or something.

“Why are you liste-- Fuck! Sanghyuk, _really_?”

“Language, child. I have a job for the two of you. Besides, it’s because I knew what you were up to that I waited until you were done. You’re welcome. Oh, hello Hongbin,” The Seer said cheerfully as the human poked his head out the bedroom door, looking thoroughly spooked.

“Uhh…hi,” he replied, quickly disappearing back into the bedroom. Sanghyuk laughed and made himself comfortable on the couch.

“Taekwoon, would you go look out the window please?”

The angel obeyed without question. It must be difficult to stop being a Watcher, Wonshik mused. Strange that Sanghyuk was still able to use him that way.

“What a pretty view,” The Seer remarked. Apparently Taekwoon had just been brought along as his seeing eye dog?

“Hongbin will have to leave to go to work this morning,” Sanghyuk continued, cheerfully. “So you will be able to accompany Taekwoon.”

“Accompany him where, exactly?”

“Oh, you’re going to _love_ this,” Taekwoon interjected with a rare dry humor, just as Sanghyuk cocked his head to the side.

“Heaven’s Peak.”

“Heaven’s Peak…The _strip club_?” Wonshik burst out, as the name registered in his brain. “Are you out of your mind?”

“It’s quite possible,” The Seer acknowledged, unoffended. “I have been around a very, very long time and nothing lasts forever. But regardless, you will go. Taekwoon is not strong enough to handle this by himself.”

Wonshik’s eyes flitted over to Taekwoon, who was frowning and rubbing at the inside of his sleeve from within the sweater-paws he’d created. He looked ashamed.

He could hear the water running in his en suite. Hongbin was certainly awake now. The human certainly wasn’t going to be happy about what his new job entailed. He vaguely wondered what Taekwoon had told Hakyeon.

“Alright,” Wonshik sighed, slumping down into the armchair. “Tell us what we need to do.”


	28. Chapter 28

Sanghyuk and Taekwoon didn’t stay long. This was usually the case when The Seer graced Wonshik with his presence. He stayed just long enough to give his orders, then disappeared until the next time a Malakhim was needed. If Wonshik didn’t know any better, he’d feel used. At least he wasn’t Taekwoon, who had been recruited for Sanghyuk’s visit with Wonshik, then tasked with returning him to his home, as Jinhwan had been reassigned and he was still waiting for his new Watcher, Junhoe’s, arrival. After that, Taekwoon’s _real_ work began. It was going to be a long day for him, and Wonshik certainly didn’t envy him.

When they had opened the veil and gone, Wonshik flopped back on the couch and let out a moan of agony. Usually he was pleased to get a new assignment. It gave purpose to his long and often monotonous existence. This one, however, he wasn’t so sure.

It wasn’t as though he felt they were in any kind of danger; he would never allow Taekwoon to go, if he did. As much as he’d often felt he needed to protect the former Watcher, he trusted Taekwoon to be able to handle himself around humans by now. He’d been Watching so long that, while his interactions may be a little awkward at times, he was now able to pass as a human who was just somewhat shy, and at least for the first few days, he’d likely remain invisible, doing little more than Watching. Regardless, physical danger really wasn’t a problem for them, unless for the presence of another angel or demon, and that was highly unlikely. He’d come across only a handful in his long years. His concern was the emotional damage.

In many ways, Wonshik had become desensitized to agony and death. He was often able to look at humanity as a whole, rather than individuals, and think in terms of good for the majority, even if it meant pain and loss for the few. Of course, there had been exceptions, Sung Min being one, as he had grown close to the boy during his short life. And there had been others that he cared for, over his many years, but Hongbin had changed everything.

Wonshik loved God. He loved Jaehwan and Taekwoon, and some of the other angels he’d grown close to, but the love between celestials was as immortal as they were. There was no time limit to it, there was no urgency, just a slow-burning affection that grew over time, rising and falling like the sea. It flared with Jaehwan, when they touched, when they’d made love, but he’d never been afraid of losing Jaehwan, not until he’d already been lost. With Hongbin, Wonshik felt a different kind of dread, because their time together would be so short. Even if he lived a full, natural, human lifespan, Wonsik could still see the end already, barely a blink in an immortal life. His precious time was already slipping through Wonshik’s fingers, and the thought of losing him was nigh on unbearable.

It made him feel a twinge of guilt. Is this how Jaehwan had felt for Henry? Because Wonshik’s love-bordering-hate-bordering-love for Jaehwan had not diminished, even loving Hongbin. Taekwoon surely felt the same way about Hakyeon, that desperation of knowing any moment could be the last. Perhaps, Wonshik forced himself to acknowledge, even more strongly than himself, as Taekwoon had never loved anyone else. He had no one else. And that was where the problem lay. Now that they were seeing humanity more as individuals, as precious souls, rather than a weak race they were responsible for, they were more likely to be affected by the cruel lives humans led.

He did not know what Taekwoon had Seen in his millennia as a Watcher. Wonshik had never asked, and Taekwoon did not often choose to talk about it, or, to put it more accurately, he did not often choose to talk at all. He had to have seen some atrocities, based on what he’d told Wonshik on the rooftop, about ‘those he had not tried to save’, the humans who haunted him. But still, it was different: Wonshik, as a part of his duty as a Malakhim, had not only been exposed to, but was often forced to participate in, some of humanity’s darker deeds.  Those were the things that never went away.

To commit a sin, one must have the intent to sin. In order to get close to his intended subjects, in order to keep his identity secret, in order to do his God-given work, Wonshik had no choice but to see, say, and do things he did not desire to do. Sometimes, awful things. It wasn’t unlike what officers did undercover, he supposed, in order to infiltrate a gang or a mob. They did what they had to do to keep their cover and were not punished for those acts that were performed unwillingly, as a part of their duty.

He had hurt people when he had to. Faces flashed through his mind, the innocent who had been caught in harm’s way, to fulfill God’s will. It was a cruel fate. He was not punished by God for these acts, as it was not his intent or his will to harm, but that didn’t stop him from punishing himself, reliving the experience over and over, questioning what he could have done differently. That was also his responsibility, never to forget, and to strive to do better.

He did not want this for Taekwoon. He did not want him to be a Malakhim. He was too innocent, too pure, and that was one of Wonshik’s biggest regrets – that he had not put a stop to it sooner, before things had gotten completely out of hand.

But even above all of this, he did not want to leave Hongbin. It wasn’t purely a selfish desire, though some of it was, of course, his want to remain in his company, simply for the pleasure of being there, but he also had a genuine fear, now, that he could lose the fragile human in the time that he was away, performing his duty. He’d never had to worry after someone before, not like this. He’d worried after his charges, when he was responsible for being their Guardian, but he’d never known this kind of unsubstantiated fear. He’d never before loved something that could be so easily taken away. It could be anything: illness, an accident, a car, a weapon, a poison, even something so stupid as choking on a seed in one of the ridiculous fruits Hongbin was always consuming. He needed Wonshik there to protect him. How could he have survived so long already in such a treacherous and unkind world?

“Come back to bed, Wonshik,” Hongbin said, so quietly that, at first, Wonshik thought it could be one of his own thoughts.

He’d approached so silently, it could have been a conjuring, and when he realized the voice was real, it startled him and Wonshik looked over his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard Hongbin get out of bed, he’d been so lost in his thoughts. His human was standing in the doorway, so beautiful with his mussed-up hair and doe eyes, the fluffy white blanket from the end of his bed wrapped around him like a cocoon.

Wonshik wanted to go to him. He knew he should. Regardless of how flustered he was at the unwelcome interruption to his night or his own dark thoughts, Hongbin didn’t deserve to suffer for any of it. Hongbin deserved only the best of his love and himself. And that’s what he needed to give to him. He just needed a moment to collect himself.

“Yes, baby, I’m coming,” he said. “I’ll be just a minute.” Hongbin sighed.

“Hmm…let me try asking another way, then. How about _now_?” Hongbin asked. Wonshik turned around in confusion just as Hongbin allowed the blanket to slowly slip from his shoulders, trailing down his body to the floor, leaving him standing there fully nude. He leaned against the wall slightly and slid his hand slowly down the ridges of his abdominal muscles, reaching for his cock, which was already hard and glistening.

That delicate hand never made it to its destination as Wonshik moved from the couch to his lover, far faster than any human could, pressing him against the wall with a growl.

“You look unhappy,” Hongbin said, trailing his tongue up the side of Wonshik’s neck. “I know of a good form of stress relief.”

His voice was lower than it had any right to be, and he sucked hard at the jointure of Wonshik’s neck and shoulder, teeth scraping against the skin.

“And what’s that?” Wonshik choked, struggling to think straight, trying to stay in control.

Hongbin grabbed both of Wonshik’s wrists and dragged his hands down to his ass, hitching one knee up to Wonshik’s hip and rubbing his hardness against him.

“Come back to bed and I’ll show you.” He smiled a little as he started to pulse his hips against Wonshik’s own, and the angel’s thigh made its way between his spread legs. “I need you,” he said with a sigh. “I need you inside me again.” His breathing became even more erratic as he found friction against Wonshik’s body. “Come back to bed, Shikkie.”

“What if I just take you right here instead?” He spun Hongbin’s body around, quickly, too quickly, so he was facing the wall. Hongbin gasped, startled by the sudden movement, but quickly recovered, finding purchase against the wall and leaned into it so that his ass pushed harder against Wonshik’s boxers.

“Yes,” Hongbin hissed, arching his back.

Wonshik’s bathrobe had already fallen down off his shoulder, but he didn’t have time for it. Willing it away, he pushed his boxers down. He doubted Hongbin would notice.

Wonshik slid his hand back down, then froze, the tips of his fingers slipping easily over Hongbin’s skin and into his stretched hole. Too easily. Wonshik felt his brain short-circuiting. Hongbin had already prepared himself while he was waiting for Wonshik to come back. Wonshik swore under his breath and pushed two fingers in effortlessly.

“I need _you_ ,” Hongbin whined, carefully turning again so that he faced Wonshik, long fingers still pressed inside, and kissed him.

Wonshik added a third finger, thrusting them effortlessly in and out of Hongbin’s ass as they kissed messily, the entire length of their naked bodies pressed together. Wonshik was just that tiny bit taller, but not enough so that he had to bend to kiss him. The human was making desperate needy sounds into his mouth as their lips and tongues and teeth mashed together and the heat between them was more than Wonshik could bear. He wrapped his other arm around Hongbin, beneath his buttocks and lifted him easily, pressing his back into the wall for leverage.

Adjusting the human’s body just-so, Wonshik bent his knees, then thrust up inside. Hongbin cried out loudly, a sharp sound fading into a lower, longer moan, as Wonshik picked up speed, kissing over Hongbin’s shoulders, neck, and chest.  

He was still so tight. Wonshik tried to control himself, to keep from hurting him, but the way Hongbin was begging for more between gasping breaths left him completely unable to keep from going hard, slamming into him, trying to satisfy the hunger. Hongbin could do nothing but lean back into the wall, spine arched, crying out as Wonshik fucked him fast and deep.

Wonshik could tell that Hongbin was getting close. His muscles were tensed hard, sweat beading up on his flawless skin, and his breath coming in small gasps, eyes clenched shut. And he knew he was walking a fine line when he started feeling that hot tingling in his own shoulder muscles that signaled the impending emergence of his wings. He slowed, bringing them both back slightly from the precipice.

“Even when I’m already inside of you, I need to be closer,” he whispered. “I want you a little longer. Let’s go back to bed.”

He carried Hongbin back to his room, laying him down and kissing him as he slid carefully back inside. Hongbin let out a lengthy, low moan, lifting his legs to hitch around Wonshik’s thighs.

“Are you okay?” Wonshik murmured against his ear. “Not too sore?”

“I’m okay,” Hongbin said, his voice a bit raspy. He sucked on Wonshik’s earlobe and it made the angel shiver.

Wonshik moved slowly now, gently, just rejoicing in how good it felt to be inside of Hongbin. They moved together. Their kisses were slow as well, Hongbin’s arms draped over Wonshik’s shoulders, caressing the back of his neck, as Wonshik rested on his elbows, one hand threaded in Hongbin’s hair, the back of the other moving along his jaw.

Hongbin’s mouth was sweet, his lips murmuring nonsense against Wonshik’s as they kissed, and the angel memorized their shape and feel beneath his own. Hongbin’s hands slid down lower and held tight around Wonshik’s back, pulling him closer as he thrust. He’d taken Hongbin apart out in the living room. Now he pieced him back together with soft words and their bodies moving smoothly in unison.

They climaxed together, and when the aftershocks subsided and they parted, Wonshik carefully cleaned the fluids from Hongbin’s body and entwined their bodies together beneath the blankets. Hongbin fell asleep almost immediately, flushed from exertion, and indescribably lovely in the dim, watery light of the streetlamps. As Wonshik reverently pressed his lips against the salty dampness of Hongbin’s temple, he thought that maybe he was, at last, ready to get over Jaehwan.

\---

It had been past 3am when Taekwoon slipped out of bed. Hakyeon woke instantly, too used to the familiar warmth of his lover’s wings and body to sleep comfortably without them. He looked up from where he lay curled on his side, Ink sprawled across his feet. Taekwoon had already dressed, with his fascinating ability to produce garments from nowhere.

“Where are you going?” he murmured to Taekwoon’s dark silhouette.

“I’m going to have to go out for a little while. I got a message about a job,” the angel said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and stroking Hakyeon’s bare arm soothingly.

“This late? You didn’t tell me you found a job.”

“It’s not a job-job,” Taekwoon explained. “It’s a celestial job. The Seer sent me a message.”

Hakyeon squinted. Was he supposed to know what that meant?

“Isn’t a seer like a psychic?”

“No, The Seer is more like an oracle,” he explained kindly. “He’s an ancient being who communicates for God. So, when he says he needs me, it means it’s a direct order from the divine. And since angels don’t sleep, it doesn’t really matter what time of day it is. When he calls, I must go.”

“But _you_ sleep,” Hakyeon protested, not wanting Taekwoon to go. That gave the angel pause.

“I do. Sometimes. But I’m not supposed to.” Hakyeon couldn’t see his face in the dark, but he sounded unhappy.

“What does that mean?” Hakyeon’s voice sounded small, even to himself.

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon responded, honestly, stroking a hand over the cat’s sleek black fur as he delicately padded his way up Hakyeon’s leg and balancing on his hip. He thrust his nose into the angel’s hand, as though seconding Hakyeon’s thoughts. “But that’s a question for another time; I really do need to go. This is the first time he’s called for me. You and Inky should get some more sleep. I’ll probably be back by the time you wake up.”

“Be safe,” Hakyeon whispered, pulling the blankets up over his shoulder to make up for the lost warmth. Taekwoon bent over and kissed him softly on the lips. Hakyeon deepened the kiss, just for a moment, not ready to let go. This time, for what may have possibly been the first time, Taekwoon pulled away first. He placed one last kiss on Hakyeon’s forehead, then disappeared into the living room. Then he was gone. Without a sound, Hakyeon could feel it in his gut.

For the first time in a long time, Hakyeon laid curled up in bed, alone in an empty house. Well, not entirely empty, because Ink had made himself comfortable perched precariously on Hakyeon’s hip, but despite the soft, rattling purrs, he felt very much alone.

The rest of the night, he didn’t get much sleep, and by the time the sun rose, he was already worried about Taekwoon. He looked at the time on his phone’s lock screen: 8:24am. It was still early. He sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anymore, regardless of the time.

He shuffled into his slippers and padded out to the kitchen. He fed Ink, then grabbed some leftover side dishes out of the fridge, picking at them sullenly for a while, then forced himself to eat. He had one of his college classes today, plus contemporary dance, then rehearsal in the evening.

He grabbed his backpack from where it lay, under the bar, ignored, for the better part of three days. He had a short reading assignment, and, he suspected, a quiz in class that day, but he had time before he had to go. He flopped back on the couch, trying to focus on his textbook, but all he could think about was Taekwoon. He was supposed to be back by now. He’d said that he’d return before Hakyeon woke up.

That’s probably what troubled Hakyeon. Taekwoon was new to this whole Malakhim thing. Though Hakyeon didn’t entirely understand what that entailed, other than being a “guardian,” of sorts, it sounded far more _interactive_ than Watching would have been. He should have asked Taekwoon more about the work angels did, and if there was any risk to it.

He sat up, slamming his book closed again. He set it on the coffee table, but too clumsily, as it immediately fell to the floor and he turned away from it with an exasperated huff.

No, this was absolutely ridiculous. His entire world did not begin and end with Jung Taekwoon. He should be able to spend a day alone. He’d done it for…he didn’t know…years! He’d never felt this kind of codependency with Caleb or Min Jun, and it was time he learned to stand on his own two feet again. Especially if he was going to get a job. Or if Taekwoon kept taking…celestial-jobs, whatever that even meant. It had been a nice honeymoon period, he supposed, but he had to get back to real life now, didn’t he?

Needing something to do that would keep his hands busy and perhaps expend a little energy, he sat up, crammed the book back in his bag (he’d just have to wing it on the quiz – when all else fails, choose option “C”) and cleaned the house a bit, doing the dusting and vacuuming he almost always left a week too long. He still continued to check his phone far too frequently, and always chastised himself when he caught himself doing it, but the time passed more quickly when he wasn’t just sitting around waiting.

It was almost 10:30 when he realized he was going to have to start getting dressed for the day and headed for the shower. He scowled, putting his phone on the edge of the sink. Murphy’s Law said that it was certainly going to ring the moment he stepped under the running water.

He scrolled through his playlists and decided on AOA for his shower tunes, and swiped the curtain around him, relaxing under the hot spray. He stood for several moments, letting the heat rinse away some of his anxiety. How did his ancestors survive without indoor plumbing, he thought aimlessly, as he carefully washed his face. And just as he was shampooing his hair, the music faded and was interrupted by his ringtone.

“Oh, for the love of--” he muttered, quickly throwing his head under the water stream and fumbling for the edge of the curtain. He _knew_ the moment he got in the shower that Taekwoon would finally call.

He hopped over the edge of the tub, dripping, and slipped a little on the tile floor as he grabbed for his towel.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he cried, grabbing the edge of the sink just before he fell, the phone slipping and clattering down into the white basin. Righting himself, he could see the lockscreen: not Taekwoon. Well, what the hell? An unknown number.

He groaned; he’d jumped out of the shower for nothing. Local, though, so probably not a spam call? He hit the accept button and as the phone connected, scrubbed quickly at his hair to get rid of the loose droplets.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Good morning, may I speak to Mr. Cha Hakyeon?”

“Speaking,” he replied, sighing at the still running water in the tub and debating whether to go turn it off or if this was going to be a quick one.

“This is Choi Jimin from the Seoul Ballet Theater. I believe you may have seen myself and my colleague, Kim Seunghyun, in two of your dance classes, a couple days ago?”

Hakyeon’s heart leapt into his throat. He wrenched the water off, to hear better.

“Yes, ma’am, I remember,” he swallowed hard to get rid of the saliva that seemed to have built up in his mouth.

“And are you familiar with our company?”

“Yes, ma’am. I saw your production of Romeo and Juliet about ten years ago, when I was in school. It was my first experience with ballet and I’ve been to many productions since then. It has been,” he forced out, his hands starting to shake, “a dream of mine to perform with your company.”

“Oh, how wonderful to hear! You are very kind. Well, we wished for you to know that the feeling is mutual. We greatly enjoyed watching you dance and were impressed with your technical skill and artistry. I am calling today to offer you an opportunity to formally audition for the SBT. Would you be interested in scheduling a time?”

He about choked. He’d begun to think this was where the conversation was leading but hadn’t dared to hope.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely.”

“Wonderful. How about Thursday, December sixth at 2 o’clock?”

He stumbled out of the bathroom fully nude, not caring even a bit about the open living room window, out to the kitchen counter, and grabbed the pen and notepad that he kept there for grocery lists.

“Yes, Thursday, December sixth. 2pm. I’ve got it. That works well for me.”

“Perfect. Just go to reception and ask for me. I’ll assist you in finding where you need to go. Please bring your resume and the contact information for any references.” Hakyeon scribbled notes as she continued.

“Fitted white shirt, black pants, black shoes. No props. We prefer you prepare both a classical and contemporary piece, one to two minutes each, then you will receive some individualized instruction from our choreographer to see how well you take direction. Do you have any questions?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t believe so.”

“Then we look forward to seeing you in one week.”

“Thank you for the opportunity, ma’am. I look forward to dancing for you again.”

They exchanged farewells and the call disconnected. Hakyeon stood in the center of the kitchen, dripping, for several minutes while the reality of what just happened sunk in. It took Ink’s inclination to start lapping at the water trickling down his ankle for him to snap out of it, and he made his way back to the bathroom to finish his shower, feeling dazed.

After he got out, he sat on the edge of the bed, picking up his phone again, and sending a text to Taekwoon.

                >> Where are you, Woonie?

There was a delay, as Hakyeon went to the wardrobe and pulled out his clothes for the day. He’d dressed and started packing his dance bag when the phone finally buzzed.

                << I’m sorry, I lost track of time. I’m still working.

How could he lose track of time? The sky had gone from pitch black to sun directly overhead in the time that he’d been gone. He wanted to tell him about the ballet, but he didn’t want to tell him over text.

                >> What kind of work?

                << Right now, Watching. I’m very sorry, love. I won’t be home until this evening.

He could feel his lower lip jutting out. He was being childish and he knew it, but he couldn’t _force_ Taekwoon to come cater to his whims.

>> I’ll be at rehearsal.

<< I’ll see you there.

Irritating, unreliable angels. Hakyeon tossed the phone in his bag.

He was not having a good day. His subway train was late, actually late, due to a passenger apparently vomiting all over a car. He had to run all the way to campus. Then when he arrived at the lecture hall, prepared to sneak in the door and hide in the back of the room, there was a note on the wall stating that the class had been cancelled due to the professor’s illness. Aggravated, he checked his email to see why he hadn’t received an advanced notification. Turns out, he had. He just hadn’t checked his email this morning since he was so hung up on why Taekwoon hadn’t come home.

He took a longer route than necessary on the subway, just to waste time, then sat around at Dream Bean for over an hour since he had nothing to do. He read the chapter he hadn’t been able to focus on that morning, then, when it was finally time, hauled himself up the stairs to his dance class.

When had his life gotten so monotonous? He wondered, as he hung his hat and scarf. Probably since he preferred being at home now, to being out. Up until the time he’d met Taekwoon, he’d dreaded going home, and was able to enjoy his time out more. Now that home meant smiles and laughter and hot, slick bodies in the dark, he found it harder and harder to leave. Perhaps it was just as well that Taekwoon wasn’t home today, then. Because he had one week to perfect a new audition piece, and if he was lucky, one of the studios would be empty after his class, so he could start practicing.

Class…did not go as well as expected. Hakyeon felt uncoordinated and distracted, and messed up several times, to where his instructor was gazing at him with obvious disappointment and his classmates just looked confused. He’d been ethereal in his last class. Today, he looked and felt less than mediocre. It did nothing for his self-esteem, or his confidence in being able to perform without Taekwoon’s energy.

He tried to explain himself to his teacher afterward, telling him about the audition with SBT and that seemed to help wipe the frown from his face. The elder dancer seemed to think Hakyeon was just nervous and gave him some tips about controlling his emotions under pressure. Hakyeon didn’t really need it. He’d been dancing so long nerves weren’t so much an issue anymore, at least not while he was performing. But it seemed as good an excuse as any. The studio wasn’t available today, but he was told he could have it for two hours tomorrow and his instructor promised to stop in and assist on his routine. It improved his mood, at least enough to where he wasn’t anticipating further disaster at the evening’s musical rehearsal.

He arrived at the practice space with over an hour to spare and he flipped up the arm rests on several seats in the auditorium to lay down and doze while he waited for his castmates to arrive.

He was startled awake a short while later by a gentle hand caressing his face. Taekwoon. At last.

The angel looked tired, which was a somewhat odd look for him, a creature who said he didn’t need to sleep, at all, ever, and Hakyeon frowned, as he sat up to examine him.

“How was Watching?” he asked casually, stretching out a kink in his back, and looking for clues in Taekwoon’s face.

“I missed you every moment,” Taekwoon said solemnly, as though the day had been a great hardship on him.

“You should have texted me.”

“I can’t Watch if all I’m looking at is my phone,” the angel argued. Touché, Hakyeon thought.

Taekwoon sat down in the seat next to him and pressed his face into Hakyeon’s neck. He smiled in spite of himself, letting the angel snuggle.

“I got the audition,” he said casually, tugging lightly on the hair at the base of Taekwoon’s neck.

Taekwoon emerged, wide-eyed. “For the ballet?”

Hakyeon grinned.

“I knew you would,” Taekwoon gasped. “Congratulations, my darling. I told you they would see your talent.” He began to press kisses enthusiastically against Hakyeon’s mouth and cheeks until he giggled and wrapped his arms around him, in a much better mood. “So, it’s a good day!” Taekwoon announced.

“Well, I didn’t actually have a very good day. I missed you every moment.”

Taekwoon gave him such an adoring look in response that it made Hakyeon feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He barely had time to lean in, to kiss him the way he wanted to, when footsteps forced them both to turn.

“Good evening, my hetero life mate,” Hongbin greeted him, stripping a large grey hoodie over his head, and wedging himself into the seat between Taekwoon and Hakyeon, sitting gingerly for all he’d forced himself in. Well, that was one way to avoid their displays of affection.

“Hetero? Who’s hetero?” Hakyeon looked around, not finding anyone, and Hongbin cackled.

“We are. At least when it comes to each other.”

“Fair enough. The term is amusing at least.”

Taekwoon looked somewhat put out at having been displaced, after having proclaimed to be missing him all day, but Hakyeon was distracted. He regarded Hongbin through narrowed eyes.

“What?” Hongbin asked, giving him a snarky look and laughing. His laugh was somewhat off.

He wasn’t falling for it. His spidey senses were tingling – something was obviously up with the other man, and he was going to figure out what, or die trying. He examined him carefully. Hongbin looked normal, fishing around in his bag for his dance shoes and notebook. He hadn’t gotten a haircut. BUT, Hongbin seemed to be moving a bit stiffly and was in _too_ good a mood for it to be anything else.

“You had _SEX_ ,” Hakyeon exclaimed. Hongbin startled, fumbling his bag, and promptly dropped it in the panic to quickly shut him up. The contents spilled all over the aisle and he swore.

“What the hell, Hakyeon! Shut up,” he hissed, glancing around to see who overheard.

“You did! You had sex! Congratulations! How was it? Was it good? I’ll bet it was good,” he babbled gleefully, tugging on his friend’s sleeve. “Tell me! Tell me, tell me. I want details.”

He didn’t just want details. He _needed_ details. And Hongbin was blushed from his head to the tips of his ears, which meant that it had to have been good. Hakyeon wanted to laugh. Wonshik was an angel. And he was seriously hot. _Of course,_ it was good. So, details!

“I don’t want details!” blurted Taekwoon, alarmed.

“Yeoonnnnieeee,” Hongbin whined.

“You spill right now, Lee Hongbin.”

Hongbin, finally looking worn down, was just about to open his mouth when Ken popped up behind Taekwoon.

“Hakyeon-ah, there’s a dude outside asking for you,” Ken announced sullenly, tossing his bag down onto one of the nearby velvet seats and pulling out a pair of jazz shoes. He must have overheard. Oops.

“I’m gonna go grab some water,” Hongbin muttered, making a quick escape down the aisle. Whether to avoid Hakyeon’s prying or the shadow of Ken’s presence, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both. Ken watched Hongbin go with a look of longing that made Hakyeon feel a little uncomfortable. And sad.

“A dude?” Hakyeon asked, trying to distract Ken. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say his name. Was a white guy, about yay tall,” Ken said, gesturing to the level of his eyes. “Brown hair. Blue coat. Bigger nose than me. Sound familiar?”

It certainly did sound familiar. Hakyeon looked at Taekwoon, whose eyes narrowed dangerously. Caleb. Caleb was outside.

“I’ll take care of it,” Taekwoon said quietly.

“Taekwoon…” Hakyeon whispered. “Don’t….”

He wasn’t sure what he actually wanted to say. Don’t go out there? Don’t get hurt? Don’t hurt Caleb? Don’t leave me alone? Maybe he wanted to say all of them at once.

“Hey, are you okay?” Ken asked.

Hakyeon blinked quickly, tears in his eyes, and panted. He was starting to hyperventilate. No, he couldn’t do this at rehearsal again.

“Don’t…I…I can’t breathe,” he stammered, breaking off in a sob and gasping for breath.

Taekwoon knelt down in front of him, taking his hand. He felt a little calmer just touching Taekwoon.

“Look at me, Yeonnie,” the angel said quietly.

Hakyeon tried to make his eyes focus. His chest ached like it had been filled with fire. He felt like he was dying.

“Breathe like this. Breathe like me,” Taekwoon said. He placed Hakyeon’s hand upon his chest and took deep, slow breaths. Hakyeon did his best to copy it, stumbling at first, but after several minutes, had calmed enough to breathe on his own without the assistance. The angel turned to Ken.

“I’m going to go look outside. You stay with Hakyeon.”

Ken nodded, unphased by the command of a lesser angel, took Taekwoon’s place by Hakyeon’s side, and rested his hand on his shoulder as Taekwoon headed up the center aisle and out towards the lobby. Hakyeon’s breathing started accelerating again as soon as he was out of arm’s reach. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Ken soothed, squeezing his shoulder gently. “If that was your ex, Taekwoon will take care of it. No one is going to get hurt. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I didn’t even suspect.”

Hakyeon nodded, trying to believe him. “B-but what if he hurts Taekwoon? It’ll be my f-fau—”

“Don’t talk like that. Taekwoon can take care of himself. _You_ know that.” He gave Hakyeon a knowing look and quirked his mouth into a crooked grin. The implication was obvious.

Hakyeon had nearly forgotten that Ken was also a celestial. Taekwoon had called him Jaehwan. But he didn’t know that Ken knew that _he_ knew.

“It was pretty obvious when you knew he was in the back of the auditorium the other day,” Ken said, practically reading his mind in that weird way Taekwoon often did. “I looked at him. You looked at me. You knew exactly what I was looking at. After so many years of observing humanity, I can read people pretty well. And when you’re not on stage, deliberately hiding it, you have a glass face. It’s quite easy to see what you’re thinking.”

Hakyeon frowned. He didn’t like that he was that obvious. Taekwoon hadn’t seemed to know at the time.

“You certainly don’t act like an angel,” Hakyeon finally muttered. Ken laughed out loud.

“You’re not the first person to say that, not by a long shot,” he chortled. He made a kissy face and flapped his hands by his shoulders like tiny wings. Hakyeon almost giggled, and some of the tension left his spine. He took a deep breath.

“Do you…have them too?” Hakyeon asked vaguely, trying to distract himself from the thought that his boyfriend could be confronting his ex at that very moment. He kept his voice down, but Ken didn’t seem concerned.

“What? Wings? Sure.” He seemed apathetic.

“Could I…sometime?” he continued to fumble for words.

“You want to see them?” He laughed again. “Why are humans so hung up on the wings? Really, they’re just wings. You see them on every pigeon and magpie you come across, daily.”

“But they’re beautiful,” Hakeyon protested.

“If it’s important to you, I’ll show you,” Ken said, with an unimpressed sigh. “I just don’t like to.”

Hakyeon’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“They remind me that I’m not human.”

Oh. That was unexpected. Although he’d spoken very casually, with the same teasing lilt he’d always had, something about it felt honest. In the rawest kind of way. It felt like he had revealed something very intimate, and the strained expression on his face as he turned away made Hakyeon feel terrible about having asked at all. Seeing someone like Ken with such an unhappy expression felt tragic.

“That I never will be,” he added, looking off into the distance, lost in thought.

It seemed Ken had done his job in distracting him, but now, instead of scared, Hakyeon just felt sorry. He was still trying to figure out what to say to lighten the mood when a little leap in his heart notified him that Taekwoon was close. He turned around to see the other angel walking down the aisle of the auditorium. He sat back down next to Hakyeon. Ken shifted down a seat.

“He’s gone,” he said quietly. “He was gone by the time I got out there, and it felt like he hadn’t been present for several minutes already. I could have followed him, but I assumed you probably wouldn’t want me to do that?”

“You assumed correctly,” Hakyeon said, frowning. “Why would he ask for me and then just leave?”

“To scare you,” Ken said flatly.

Taekwoon nodded. “Although I don’t know him well, I only met him once, I think that is likely a safe assumption.”

Hakyeon nodded slowly. That sounded like something that Caleb would do. He knew that he wasn’t allowed to be near Hakyeon due to the restraining order, but that wouldn’t stop him from letting Hakyeon know that he was nearby, watching, just in an effort to torment him. Somehow, with the initial shock of the threat gone, though, that didn’t make him feel afraid. It seemed more…pathetic. And Hakyeon wasn’t frightened. He was angry.

“Alright, everyone!” Jinwoo clapped his hands. “Warm-ups.”

And as Hakyeon stood, readying himself to take the stage, he didn’t see the long look Taekwoon and Ken gave each other, their hands lightly brushing, as if communicating silently.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in the pole dance routine I was inspired by, here is a link :)  
> https://youtu.be/7SQMKODJYXk 
> 
> (Music: Melanie Martinez - Carousel)

Rehearsal lasted a bit longer than usual due to a set change they were asked to run again. And again. And again. Until they finally got it right. At the door of the auditorium, Hakyeon told Hongbin under no uncertain circumstances, that he was going to be calling him in an hour for explicit details. Hongbin rolled his eyes in a show of bravado, but the fear still shone in his eyes. Hakyeon had that effect sometimes. They split up then and headed home in opposite directions.

Still a bit nauseated at the thought of Wonshik and Hongbin doing the things he and Hakyeon do (he’d also heard way more of Wonshik and Jaehwan than he’d ever wanted over the years, so the mental image was disturbingly high-def, now), Taekwoon tried to focus on Hakyeon.

The snow swirled around them in a dizzy dance, and they held hands as they walked, though Hakyeon’s winter gloves prevented Taekwoon from catching any insight as to his thoughts. His Dancer was in a good mood, though, and hummed to himself from behind his red knit scarf. Waiting at a crosswalk, his stomach growled and he rubbed a hand over his midsection unconsciously.

“You’re hungry?” Taekwoon asked. “Didn’t you eat?”

Hakyeon’s brow furrowed and his expression turned sheepish.

“I had breakfast.”

Breakfast was the first one in the morning, Taekwoon thought, which meant Hakyeon should have had at least one, maybe two, more meals since then.

“But I would kill a man for some good jjajangmyeon right about now,” Hakyeon continued. Taekwoon blanched.

“You would do no such thing. You—” Wait. Hakyeon couldn’t kill anyone. He could not mean those words. “That was joking or not joking?”

Hakyeon laughed. “More of an over-exaggeration than a joke, but good catch, Taekwoonie.”

He smiled to himself. He was finally figuring out the humor thing. It didn’t distract him from his goal of ensuring The Dancer’s wellbeing, though.

“We’ll stop and get some on the way home. You need to eat,” Taekwoon lectured. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

Hakyeon nodded. “I know. And I didn’t mean to. I just forgot.” He fussed with a bit of hair that had escaped his hat and fluttered on his forehead, tucking it back in.

“What distracted you so?” Taekwoon asked, prodding a bit more. “The audition call?”

Hakyeon shrugged, his hand twitching in Taekwoon’s almost as though he wanted to pull it away. Taekwoon tightened his fingers around his.

“Wondering where you were,” he admitted, “excited about the audition, but then reliving over and over how horrible I was in class today and wondering if I even deserve it, the list goes on…”

Taekwoon frowned. “You knew where I was.” They’d get to that other stuff later.

“No, you told me you were going on some kind of secret angel business, but I had no idea where you were, or if you were safe, or when you’d come back. You thought it was going to be a short time, but then it took so long, I got worried.”

“I’ll do better, so you don’t need to worry,” Taekwoon said. “I was just Watching. I’m not in any danger.”

“Who are you watching?”

Taekwoon’s frown deepened. He wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to give anyone details. Wonshik had never told him anything about his work until after it was already over. And he didn’t want Hakyeon to get drawn into any sort of danger, should Taekwoon ever be seen, and anyone make the connection between himself and Hakyeon. He sighed.

“I don’t think I’m really supposed to tell you. I mean, not _you_ , specifically, but anyone,” he hastily corrected himself, before Hakyeon could take offense. “But I’m Watching over…another dancer. I’m responsible for helping this person to remove themselves from a situation that puts them at risk of harm.”

“A dancer?” Hakyeon asked, eyes wide. “Is it someone I know?”

“I highly doubt it,” Taekwoon said. “It’s a…different kind of dancing.” This was true, though Hakyeon was probably under the impression he meant something like tap dance. If only.

Taekwoon pointed across the intersection to a glowing red and blue sign. “Isn’t that the restaurant for jjajangmyeon?”

It was a convenient distraction, as he really didn’t want to say anything more, and Hakyeon was, thankfully, sidetracked, as his stomach gave another loud gurgle. Taekwoon giggled and poked him in the tummy as he flushed. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

A short while later, they were back at the apartment, and Hakyeon was bundled up in blue pajamas, happily slurping noodles and watching dance performance videos on YouTube for inspiration. He looked so warm and soft and content that Taekwoon hated himself for the next words he would have to speak.

“Darling, I am going to have to go out a bit longer,” he said, preparing himself for the inevitable blow.

It was worse than he’d expected, as Hakyeon’s face immediately crumpled.

“When will you be back?”

His voice was barely more than a whisper. Taekwoon grabbed Hakyeon’s hand and brought it up to his face, letting the feelings of love and longing and reluctance to part flow through him. Making Hakyeon so sad after he’d had such a difficult day was unforgiveable. The human made to pull his hand away, but Taekwoon continued to grasp his fingers, pulling them over to his lips and kissing each of his knuckles in turn. He was hurt, deeply, and Taekwoon could obviously feel it, but it seemed his emotions weren’t just at the separation, but also shame for having those emotions in the first place, like needing Taekwoon close was something he didn’t like in himself. Taekwoon tried not to feel wounded by this revelation.

“I promise it won’t be long,” Taekwoon swore. He looked at the clock. It was just past eleven. “I will be back by three at the very latest. Probably closer to two.”

“Four hours?”

“Closer to three,” he vowed again.

Hakyeon nodded and took another bite of his noodles. He didn’t seem to want to make eye contact. Taekwoon didn’t exactly understand why, but he empathized at least, so decided to leave things as they were. He kissed Hakyeon softly on the cheek, then rose and headed over to the living room window.

“What are you doing?” Hakyeon asked, brow furrowing.

“The faster I go, the faster I’ll get back to you. Close this behind me?” Taekwoon winked, then jumped. He had less than a second of freefall before he spread his wings and took flight. He knew Hakyeon would be able to see him from the window, though he was completely invisible to the world below. But what took him completely off-guard was how difficult it was to fly.

Something was very wrong. He grimaced at the deep ache in his wing joints as he flew higher. It was a heavy discomfort he’d never felt before, like he was being weighted down. Sanghyuk had warned him the previous night that his powers had grown weaker due to the energy he’d been sharing with Hakyeon, but he didn’t realize it would affect him physically. He found himself hoping that he’d misinterpreted the sensation. And the warning.

Jaehwan was already on the rooftop of the building next to theirs, ironically laying on a beach blanket, wearing a pair of sunglasses. At night. In December. Whatever. Taekwoon wasn’t concerned about the many eccentricities of Lee Jaehwan so long as he was doing what he’d promised to do. He looked comfortable enough. With the curtains to the apartment open as Taekwoon had left them, Jaehwan would be able to see inside, but that didn’t matter, really. So long as he had a clear view of the street below, to ensure that Caleb wasn’t making any kind of approach.

Taekwoon didn’t really believe that Hakyeon’s ex-lover knew where he lived but having him show up outside the auditorium had rattled him. He hadn’t thought that the animosity would have run so deep, to where he would be willing to potentially break the law in order to get close to Hakyeon, to do…Taekwoon didn’t even know what he would do. He didn’t know what he was thinking, but it couldn’t have been anything good.

Jaehwan had been nice about the request, knowing better than anyone how important Hakyeon was to Taekwoon, and he’d agreed to watch out for the human while Taekwoon was away on his work for Sanghyuk. It wasn’t something that a Power would normally do, and Taekwoon normally wouldn’t make that kind of request, knowing that most Powers would find the task to be so far below their station to be laughable, but then, Jaehwan wasn’t like most Powers. He’d even offered to follow Caleb, rather than simply guarding Hakyeon, but Taekwoon didn’t think that was a good idea. Jaehwan was not in a good place emotionally right now. If Caleb tried anything untoward, he might get a little overenthusiastic about teaching him a lesson.

Nevertheless, Jaehwan waved cheerfully enough up at him as he passed by, and Taekwoon gave him a smile in return, just in case Hakyeon was looking, so he wouldn’t see a physical gesture.

Being visible to someone all the time was a bit of a bother.

He flew low, hovering close to rooftops, concerned by the weight of his wings, and by the time he’d reached the correct neighborhood, Taekwoon was exhausted. He was thoroughly regretting his choice to fly, as his wing joints throbbed with pain, and he felt like he was developing a headache as well. He scrunched up his face at the unpleasant sensation.

Taekwoon found Wonshik on a rooftop overlooking the façade of a building with “Heaven’s Peak” in white lights above the door. There was a golden halo encircling the letter H and it made him want to roll his eyes. Nothing from the outside indicated the nature of the business within except for the burly doorman standing with folded arms next to the entrance.

The other Malakhim did not react when Taekwoon touched down behind him, nor when he came to crouch by his side.

“I’m disappointed. No pearly gates?” Taekwoon asked. Wonshik didn’t respond but continued gazing down at the street.

Taekwoon followed his lead, Watching for several minutes, until he found it physically impossible to avoid just a _bit_ of teasing.

“So…Hongbin, hmm?”

Wonshik’s cheeks flushed. He was silent for several minutes more, then sighed.

“I know, I owe you an apology.”

“What?” Taekwoon was startled.

“I’m a hypocrite,” Wonshik stated, his eyes firmly fixed on the street below. “I repeatedly warned you off humans, told you that it was only going to bring you heartache, and now here we are. Doomed. Both of us.”

“Do you love him?”

Wonshik’s affirmation came across loudly in his silence, and Taekwoon’s heart felt like it was cracking. Yes, here they both were. Perhaps it was a good thing that Wonshik was able to find love in his heart for someone other than Jaehwan, but what was going to happen when he saw Jaehwan again? Because it really was only a matter of time. Now that he had bonded with Hongbin, it would likely be that much worse. Especially if Jaehwan asked for forgiveness, or to be reaccepted into Wonshik’s life again. And there seemed to be a good possibility that this would happen, based on Jaehwan had told him.

When Taekwoon had accompanied Jaehwan home after Wonshik’s concert, he’d been a mess. He’d cried for hours, and from what Taekwoon could decipher, between sniffles, sobs, and words mumbled incoherently into the fabric of his shirt, it appeared that Henry was still alive; alive, but dying. He’d seen Wonshik with Hongbin not long ago, that’s why he’d shown up at the concert, because after seeing him that first time, he needed to see him again. He wouldn’t be able to stop seeking him, now that he’d caught that glimpse. In many ways, Taekwoon thought, Jaehwan seemed like a recovering addict who had slipped and now could not stop seeking out another hit, no matter how much it hurt him, no matter what it cost.

When Taekwoon had confronted him, gently, about the energy he’d sensed in Hongbin, Jaehwan looked shamefaced, but even more heartbroken. He wasn’t over Hongbin, either, but at least Hongbin had rejected him fully. He’d told him that he did not want to be more than a friend. Jaehwan could accept that, even if he didn’t like it. But Wonshik had left, still in love with him. Perhaps he still loved him, Jaehwan said, his voice dripping in desperation. Even a little, that would be enough, but more than anything in this life, or any other, he wanted Wonshik back, in any way he could possibly have him. Taekwoon had listened to the sobs, the babble, the agonized bargaining, words spilling from his lips as though he couldn’t control them.

He felt for Jaehwan, he really did. But should he tell Wonshik? Was it his place? Perhaps not, but would Wonshik ever forgive him if he found out Taekwoon had withheld this information from him? Taekwoon took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“Wonshik, I think there’s something I should tell—”

“That’s him,” Wonshik interrupted, his voice gone cold.

“What?” Taekwoon looked down in the direction of Wonshik’s gaze. He pointed out a man on the street in a gray suit.

“That’s the guy Sanghyuk told us about. I’m going to watch him while you watch the girl, yeah?”

“Umm…yeah,” Taekwoon reluctantly agreed.

Wonshik stood, his features and clothing morphing into a man of middle age, with a well-trimmed goatee and an expensive-looking suit.

“Do I need to look like that, too?” Taekwoon asked.

“Well, you need to at least look like you belong there.”

Taekwoon thought about it for a moment, then changed his appearance.

“Keep trying, you look just like a young Cha Seung-won,” Wonshik complained.

Taekwoon concentrated, giving himself a suit similar to the one Wonshik was wearing, then gave himself a slightly bigger nose. The other angel sighed.

“I can do Ahn Jae-hyun instead?” Taekwoon asked dubiously.

“You’re not supposed to look like someone famous. It’ll draw too much attention. Don’t change it now, though. It’s good enough. You’re attractive without being too distracting, so it should be alright. Just stay with me and try not to look so scared. You’ll start freaking _me_ out.”

Taekwoon nodded and schooled his features so they wouldn’t betray his rising anxiety. They dropped down off the roof into the alley next to the building, side-by-side, and emerged onto the street, easily fading into the light pedestrian traffic. The impact made Taekwoon’s ankles and knees ache, but he did his best to ignore it, not wanting Wonshik to ask uncomfortable questions. They crossed the street at the nearby traffic light, then tripped up the sidewalk toward the broad-shouldered doorman.

Wonshik slung an arm around Taekwoon’s shoulder, the light brush of his wrist against his jaw serving the dual purpose of making them look genial, as well as allowing them to communicate wordlessly, if necessary.

Truthfully, Taekwoon was impressed with Wonshik’s ability to make himself look natural in just about any situation. He was a better actor than Taekwoon had ever imagined.

As the bouncer looked them up and down, his face softened from an intimidating scowl to gruff recognition.

“Good evening, Mr. Chae, it’s been some time,” he remarked, at last. “How’s the new wife?” The corners of Wonshik’s mouth curled into what was not exactly a smile but could have possibly been interpreted as amusement.

“It has, hasn’t it? Well, you know how that old saying goes: ‘When the cat’s away, the mouse will get a lapdance,’ isn’t it?”

The man’s stony façade cracked, and he chuckled. “Yes, that sounds about right. Well, you came at a good time. We’ve got some new faces around. Pretty ones. Speaking of which,” he turned to Taekwoon. “Who’s your friend?”

“Mr. Seo, Mr. Cha. Mr. Cha, Mr. Seo,” he said gesturing to each of them in turn. Apparently Taekwoon was Mr. Cha, now. Wonshik’s idea of a sneaky joke. Taekwoon made a mental note to hit him for it later.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Taekwoon said, giving a very small bow. The bow the doorman gave back was deeper, as to be expected.

“My work colleague,” Wonshik offered.

“Is this your first time with us?” Doorman-Seo asked. Taekwoon nodded his confirmation. The man smiled. “I’ll remember you well. Please enjoy yourself,” he added. Taekwoon couldn’t help but feel that the promise to remember him was something of a threat as well as a courtesy, but he thanked him politely as he headed through the now-open door.   

Wonshik held the second door for him, and as he stepped through into flashing lights and throbbing bass, Taekwoon couldn’t help his jaw from dropping. He could feel the heavy blush rising in his cheeks and he fought against the urge to hide his face, or fold in upon himself the way he did when he couldn’t handle the embarrassment.

“Go,” Wonshik hissed. Taekwoon whipped around, ready to flee.

“Sanghyuk said, ‘you know, bright lights and bottle service’; he didn’t say that they would be naked!” he hissed back in a panic.

Because they were. Well, almost. The waitresses wandering the floor were tall and lithe and utterly naked save for little gold thong panties that somehow seemed even more obscene than full nudity would have. They also wore delicate gold chains that crisscrossed over their bare breasts and toned torsos, sparkling with crystals, and little white-feathered angel wings held on by straps over their shoulders. It was blasphemous. It was also, somehow, really hot.

“What were you expecting? Tasteful side-boob?” Wonshik asked, raising a dark eyebrow. “It’s a strip club.”

“Don’t you have to start with some clothes in order to strip?” Taekwoon babbled. “And did you have to use the word ‘taste?’ he moaned under his breath.

“Oh, for the love of...come on,” Wonshik grunted, grabbing Taekwoon by the arm and leading him to the empty booth with the best possible view of the stage.

On the stage, a pair of women were gyrating to the grinding beat of a “Rack City” remix. Taekwoon knew that this was the name of the song only because Wonshik told him, before starting to bob to the beat and mouth the lyrics, which made him cringe. Putting his elbows firmly up on the table, Taekwoon hid his flaming face behind his hands, looking squarely at the tabletop, rather than the unclothed women, who had begun to press against each other.

“Since when do you care about nudity?” Wonshik asked casually.

“Since…umm…”

“Since you discovered the joys of the flesh?”

Taekwoon grimaced. “I wouldn’t exactly put it that way.”

“It’s true, though,” Wonshik chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Look, we’re here for a purpose, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a good time. It’s too obvious how uncomfortable you are. Relax. Have a drink.”

A waitress appeared at their tableside just then, turning off the little red light that Wonshik had apparently used to summon her. He ordered a double gin and tonic and looked expectantly at Taekwoon. He stared back blankly. He didn’t see a menu anywhere, and he never ended up drinking the one and only cocktail he’d ever ordered. Wonshik smirked and told her to just make it two. He shook his head at Taekwoon, though his eyes were fond.

 “Alright. So, here’s the plan. You’ll go up there whenever she dances. Let her see you.”

Taekwoon blinked. “How do I make her see me?”

“She’ll come to you if you look interested and suitably rich,” Wonshik continued. “And that’s important: you have to let her come to you. She’ll trust you more if you don’t push yourself on her. Give some of these to her.” He pushed a wad of bills into Taekwoon’s hand. He stared at the money in his hand, not moving.

“Just put it in your pocket, Taekwoon,” Wonshik coaxed. Taekwoon folded the bills in half and slipped them into his pants pocket.

The waitress came back just then and gave Wonshik a winning smile as she placed their drinks on the table. He winked and tucked a bill under the strap of her tiny golden panty.

“Thank you, Mr. Chae,” she murmured, letting her hand slide over his shoulder. “Please let me know if I can help you with _anything_ else,” she said suggestively.

Ignoring the implication, Wonshik turned back to Taekwoon, who took a sip of his drink. He watched Taekwoon expectantly. The drink tasted something like the way a forest smells. It burned in his mouth and throat a bit, but he didn’t dislike it. He took a bigger swallow and Wonshik nodded approvingly.

“Anyway,” he said, “You’ll do this several times over the next week or two. Make her think you’re coming back again and again just to see her dance. She’ll come to you.”

“What do I do when she talks to me?” he asked.

Wonshik pursed his lips in thought. It made his tiny mouth even smaller.

“That depends on what she does. If she befriends you, that’s the best-case scenario. Run with it, if she starts getting personal. If she tries to scam you, you can call her out on it, laugh at her, then act as though you want in on it, or try to get back to the friend route. If she tries to seduce you, you’ll have to go along with it, at least a little.” Taekwoon felt a jolt of panic rising up. “I’m not saying for you to sleep with her or anything, but use it as a chance to get close. Romance her a bit if you have to: flowers, presents, dates. Remember the end goal. We don’t know who else here is in on the scam, but we do know that Mr. Shim is trying to get to her and I need time to figure out why. All you need to do is buy me time.”

Taekwoon hunched down on himself as he swallowed his drink faster, just for something to do. Wonshik made it sound so easy, but Taekwoon wasn’t exactly good at making friends. This could be disastrous.

He watched the condensation drip down the side of the glass in shimmering rivulets as Wonshik spoke. He knew that he had to do this – God had commanded it of him. He deserved his just punishment for his selfishness in taking The Dancer for himself, but he still did not know how he was supposed to get close to this girl.

The DJ announced, “You know her as the most mouthwatering little 40 kilos of sugar in the city. Next up, we have the sweet, the luscious, Candy.”

He sat up straight, pushing aside his now-empty glass. That was the stage name of the girl he’d been set to protect, Na Seo-yeon. Only eighteen, with a fake identification stating she was twenty-two. He expected she’d had it for some time. He’d Watched her home the previous night and into the day. She lived with several other dancers and was involved in a dangerous scam ring, where girls would lure men into their clubs, get them blackout drunk, then empty their wallets and rack up innumerable charges onto their credit accounts. Sanghyuk stated that Mr. Shim, the man that Wonshik was tailing, was somehow involved, though they had not determined yet in what manner.

“Go, there’s a spot right there,” Wonshik said, practically shoving Taekwoon out of the booth. He managed to catch himself to keep from stumbling and gave Wonshik a glare before slinking down the black-and-gold carpeted steps to the newly abandoned table, directly next to the stage. He sat down in the chair that gave him the best view and dragged his finger through a water ring on the tabletop, left from its previous inhabitant.

The surrounding tables were packed with businessmen with loosened ties, rolled sleeves, and pouchy, red-rimmed eyes, bellowing loudly to one another over the blare of the music. Taekwoon could literally smell the arousal rising from their bodies along with the stale cigarette odor and the sharp tang of alcohol. He swallowed against the discomfort that held his body rigid, and tried to relax, picking at a loose piece of metal from the gold embellishment that ran around the outer edge of the table.

So focused was he, that he didn’t even realize a girl was coming until she was arranging herself delicately on his knee: a beautiful waitress angled herself into Taekwoon’s body, her knee brushing lightly against the front of his trousers in a manner that could not possibly be accidental.

“Hi there, big man. Are you lost?” she asked, running a hand over one of his shoulders.

“Lost?” Taekwoon blinked at her. She smiled back, a dazzling display of straight, white teeth.

Her bare breasts brushed against his suit coat as she leaned into him and brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes.

“The most attractive man in this place and yet, you look so shy. No company?”

“Ahh…not today,” he hedged.

She toyed with the collar of his jacket and smoothed out a wrinkle in the fabric. “I’m Sarang,” she said, shifting her shoulders in a way that drew his attention to her little feathered wings. They were cute, though completely physiological impossibility. She’d never be able to fly on something so small. They seemed to be missing the primary and secondary coverts altogether. He reached up one hand to touch the feathers, which seemed to be real. They were soft, and warm from where they lay against her back.

“Let me get you a drink,” she murmured into his ear. The brush of her lips against the shell of his ear and the warmth of her breath made a little shiver run up his spine. She smelled good and he breathed in – it was so much nicer than the acrid scents of the patrons around him – a perfume sweet with fruits and flowers, and the faintest hint of soap from her long black hair. Her weight on his lap was somewhat comforting, grounding in a way. This place was somewhat frightening, but she wasn’t. She was just a human. A lovely human, with soft brown eyes.

But then, suddenly, she was gone, off to fetch him a drink, and he let out a shuddering breath, coming back to his senses. What in the name of heaven was that?

He groaned in agony, scrubbing his hands over his face, and shifted uncomfortably to relieve the pressure in his slacks. He looked down. Well, _that_ was unexpected.

The lights suddenly dimmed as the music faded into something darker, more sultry, and Seo-yeon, in her guise as ‘Candy’ appeared through the curtains.

When he’d seen her yesterday, at her home, she’d looked very young, dressed in comfy sweatpants and a tank top, sipping orange juice, and tapping away on her mobile phone. Now, she was in golden lingerie, that wrapped tightly around her body with straps and bows on each thigh, revealing far more than it covered, her hair curled and loose, tumbling about her, and her eyes painted in dark makeup.

‘Candy’ moved sinuously to the music, swaying and flexing, moving her hips and running her hands over the curves of her hips and breasts. She slid to the floor into a full split, bouncing her hips as though in the act of love and Taekwoon had to shut his eyes for a moment. She climbed the pole, spinning slowly, arching her back, as though completely immune to gravity, and when Sarang rejoined him, perching back on Taekwoon’s thigh, he let her, swallowing down the glass of sweet champagne she’d brought him without hesitation.

He felt dizzy. The room was so warm and the girl pressed into him was even warmer, and as ‘Candy’ made her way down the stage toward him, he pressed one of the bills from his pocket into Sarang’s hand. She slipped it into ‘Candy’s’ costume, and the girl smiled at him, looking into his eyes with something warm that seemed to urge him to want to touch, to claim. He pushed his hand back into his pocket in a tight fist, his nails digging into his palm.

Sarang slid her own glass of champagne towards him and he grasped it thankfully, needing something to do that could draw his attention from the dizzying sparkle of golden fabric and dark painted eyes and supple pale skin flashing in and out of the colored lights and throbbing music, and the husky voice singing something about a carousel.

He suddenly wanted to push Sarang away, to fly home - run, if he had to - so he could get his hands on Hakyeon. He wanted. He wanted badly.

But then the music was fading out, and the siren on the stage was curtseying elegantly to the claps and shouts of the other men and collecting the array of bills they showered upon her. Sarang ran her hand through the damp hair at the base of his neck.

“Will you come with me?” she was asking. What did she want him to do? He looked into her eyes, startled and confused, and her gaze shot to the doorway that led to what he assumed were likely private rooms.

“I…uh….I can’t. I need to get back to my friend,” he stammered. She didn’t look concerned.

“I see,” she said, and the corner of her mouth curved. “Next time, come find me. I’ll be your friend.”

He nodded dumbly, and she sashayed up the steps, glancing over her shoulder just once, to see that he was, indeed, watching her. As though anyone would be able to resist.

Taekwoon took a deep breath that ended up sounding more like a gasp and the businessman next to him smirked at his innocent reaction. Taekwoon stood and stumbled back up to the booth, flushed, and irritable. He slumped back in his seat across from Wonshik, begging God and all the saints that he wouldn’t make him feel like any more of an ass than he already did. Apparently, the Almighty heard his prayers, as Wonshik simply pushed another glass in front of him. He took it gratefully and swallowed the cold liquid. It didn’t burn so much anymore and took away some of the feverish feeling.

They watched the dancers for a short while longer, Wonshik keeping an occasional eye on the elusive Mr. Shin, though the other man didn’t seem to be interested in anything but the waitress currently parked next to him in his booth. Taekwoon spoke suddenly, without thinking.

“Have you ever…with a woman?”

Wonshik stilled, thinking deeply. “Well, not exactly,” he said, a slight glow rising up in his cheeks. “Do you remember Aoibheann? From Alba?”

That wasn’t what Taekwoon had expected.

“That was some time after Domhnall passed?” Taekwoon tried to remember. The time they spent in the northern kingdom was very short, and he, himself, had been primarily Watching the inner workings of the court under Constantine. His daughters had been of little interest at the time, as his son Indulf would be taking the throne, but he seemed to recall Wonshik dancing with a sprightly young woman in a blue dress. “She had long yellow hair,” he pondered aloud.

“Yes, exactly,” Wonshik said with a sigh. “Though I was able to accomplish my task, and got her out unharmed, she, err…fell in love with me. And while we didn’t do _that_ , we may have done some…other things,” he admitted. “I wasn’t trying to lead her on,” he said, defensively. “It felt necessary at the time. To make her go with me. She couldn’t stay.”

Taekwoon wasn’t judging. “Did Jaehwan know?” he asked curiously.

Wonshik visibly flinched. Taekwoon tried not to react, pretending to not notice Wonshik’s visceral response to the sound of his name.

“He knew,” he said simply. “He always knew. In fact,” he gave a harsh laugh, as though the memory brought him both pain and mirth in equal measure, “he often said I should give someone else a try, so I’d know how lucky I was to have him.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Jaehwan,” Taekwoon muttered. Wonshik swallowed hard.

“But why are you asking?” Wonshik said, in a blatant attempt to change the subject. “See something you like?”

Taekwoon glowered in response to his leer, knowing that he’d seen everything that happened.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Wonshik assured his friend. “It’s natural to find others attractive. And Hakyeon knows you love only him.”

Taekwoon nodded. He did. He loved Hakyeon very much. In fact…he let his mind wander, imagining Hakyeon moving his body in the way these dancers did. He found that he liked the image a little more than was appropriate for a public space.

“It’s getting a bit late,” Wonshik murmured. “Shin is leaving. It doesn’t look as though anything else will be happening tonight. The club will be closing soon.”

Taekwoon looked at his phone with a jolt. 2:32am. He swore under his breath.

“I have to go. _Right_ now. I promised Hakyeon I would be home before 3. Actually, I promised it would be closer to 2 and 3 would be the latest. He’s going to kill me.” Wonshik laughed.

“The good news is, he can’t _actually_ kill you, even if he tries, but I get your meaning. Go. Just make sure to do it in the alley across the street or up the road somewhere. There’s too much of a chance you’d be seen over here. I’ll settle our tab and will call you tomorrow.”

Taekwoon nodded, then stood abruptly. The floor seemed to sway beneath his feet and he lurched toward the front door, grabbing onto a gold-plated rail for balance as he made his way toward the outer world. It was too dizzying in here, still. The fog from the stage, the flashing lights, the crush of bodies and the heat…it was too much. He pushed his way first through one door, then the next.

The cold winter air had something of a sobering effect on him as he stumbled out onto the sidewalk, where Mr. Seo gave him a suspicious look.

“Sorry, I tripped,” he lied, straightening his tie and doing his best to remain steady on his feet.

“We hope to see you again,” the doorman called after him as he jogged off down the block. He waved back at him awkwardly. Turning around made him sway awkwardly and he gripped the brick of the building, to stay upright.

Turning the corner onto the next street, he dashed into the closest available alley. He wasn’t going to be able to fly. The world still seemed to be spinning around him. A cat, no, two cats? No, just one cat, was staring at him from beside a dumpster. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and opened the veil.

Concentrating deeply, he picked his way through and emerged in the hallway just outside of his apartment door. Maybe that way it would look as though he’d taken the human route home, which would explain his delay a bit. If Hakyeon asked, he wouldn’t lie, but maybe he wouldn’t ask? Or maybe a distraction would help - Taekwoon was still feeling rather uncomfortable, half-hard in his jeans, and a ‘distraction’ would be more than welcome.

It took two tries to push in the correct passcode, as it felt like there was some kind of a disconnect between his brain and his fingertips. He gripped the doorframe as he passed through. As he closed the door, a bit too hard, he realized a lamp was still on in the living room, a sweet gesture welcoming him home. It made it feel as though Hakyeon was anticipating him, even though he’d been upset when Taekwoon left. He turned it off, having no need for it, and went to the bedroom, stumbling a bit as he went.

Taekwoon found him in bed, as expected, curled in a ball beneath the blankets. He appeared to have been lightly dozing, but opened his eyes when Taekwoon walked in. Hakyeon didn’t say anything, but simply watched Taekwoon as he shed his clothing, dropped bonelessly onto the bed, slipped beneath the sheets, and curled his body around him. Hakyeon’s feet were cold where they pressed into his calves, but he didn’t mind. He was ready to finally be rid of this pesky problem of his.

“I missed you,” Taekwoon whispered, pressing his lips to the back of Hakyeon’s neck, then running his tongue delicately down his spine.

Hakyeon shivered, arching in spite of himself, just as Taekwoon had hoped he would. He could feel his human’s heart accelerating as he continued kissing across his shoulders and slid a hand over his ribs and onto his chest, gentle fingertips circling around a nipple, which quickly hardened beneath his touch.

The Dancer pushed his perfect round ass back against Taekwoon’s hips and let out a soft sound, feeling his arousal pressed against him. He rolled over, wrapping his arms around Taekwoon’s neck, and Taekwoon immediately slotted their lips together, kissing him hard, all of the built-up longing breaking free. He pressed closer, nibbling on Hakyeon’s lip, and the human pulled away, breathing hard.

“Taekwoon, are you _drunk_?”

“I’m not drunk,” he lied, hooking his leg over Hakyeon’s hip. He wasn’t drunk. He was just a little tired. And dizzy. And horny.

“I can taste it on you. I can smell it on your breath. Where have you been?”

He didn’t answer, continuing to kiss his away across Hakyeon’s long, elegant neck. His perfume was even nicer than the girl’s. Tart like fresh blackberries, mixed with that intoxicating scent that was distinctively Hakyeon. He was so hard. He wanted so bad.

“Taekwoon, we’re not doing anything if you’re drunk.”

“I was drinking with Wonshik, but I’m n-not drunk,” he protested. He pronounced each word very carefully, ensuring that he wouldn’t slur, but Hakyeon wasn’t fooled.

“Taekwoon, go to sleep.”

“But Hakyeonnie,” he whined, doubling up his efforts on stroking Hakyeon’s hip as he sucked a mark onto his collarbone.

“I said, no.” Taekwoon looked into his eyes. He meant it. And that expression, he might even be a little disappointed in him. That sobered him far more than the cold air had.

“On second thought,” he said, guiltily, “maybe I am a little bit drunk.”

“I’ll say you are,” Hakyeon sighed, pulling Taekwoon close. He could feel that Hakyeon was turned on, too, and it made him feel worse, that neither of them could have satisfaction while he was giddy like this. “How much did you drink?”

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon admitted. “Maybe six?”

“And taking into consideration the fact that you don’t eat, practically ever, and have zero tolerance built up, you were probably thoroughly drunk after only half of those. I’m going to murder Wonshik.”

Taekwoon nodded, snuggling into Hakyeon’s warm chest and looking up, batting his eyelashes innocently. “It’s Wonshik’s fault.”

Hakyeon’s eyes crinkled and his soft chuckle sounded loud to Taekwoon’s ear, pressed up firmly against his body.

“I’ll make sure to let him know that you threw him under the bus.”

Taekwoon yawned, not entirely sure what bus Hakyeon meant, but accepting it.

“Okay, love,” he murmured, drifting off to sleep.

\-------------

Jaehwan watched as Taekwoon re-entered Hakyeon’s apartment, tripped over a rug, and turned out the light in the living room. He smiled to himself, knowing the only way a Malakhim could possibly be that clumsy, and sighed that he hadn’t been able to be the one to get Taekwoonie drunk for the first time. What a shame. His little baby, all grown up and sampling sins. He was so proud.

It hadn’t been a particularly interesting night. Hakyeon made a phone call to Hongbin shortly after Taekwoon left, and Jaehwan did his best to tune it out. He’d experienced the agony of Hongbin and Wonshik’s lovemaking once already, feeling everything through the bond as he sobbed on Taekwoon’s shoulder, unable to tell him why. He wasn’t in the mood for a play-by-play.

Instead, he watched the latest Marvel blockbuster playing on Hakyeon’s downstairs-neighbor’s flatscreen, keeping half an eye on the street, but Caleb never came. After a while, Hakyeon hung up the phone, tidied his kitchen, took a shower, and went to bed. A black cat, which had been following him from room to room until he laid down, hopped up into the living room window and stared at Jaehwan. He stared back. Minutes passed, and the cat left, seeking a better pastime. Then Taekwoon came home and it was time for him to go.

Jaehwan tutted to himself, getting up off his beach blanket and rolling it up. He’d seen Taekwoon’s reaction to his little rooftop setup. He was rather proud of it, himself. Because sure, he may have the ability to crouch or stand for hours without getting tired, but why bother when he could stay clean and be more comfortable? He wasn’t a Watcher, after all. He liked to _move_. He stuffed it into his backpack and looped the straps around his back so the bag rested in the front, like a marsupial. That way, it wouldn’t get in the way of his wings.

Just as he was preparing to take flight, a movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A man in a blue coat was making his way up the road; a blue coat that Jaehwan had seen just the day before.

Bingo.

Fading into invisibility, he hopped up on the ledge, looking down. The man he’d been waiting for moved into the shadows of the building, looking up at the darkened windows.

Not so much a man, Jaehwan thought. A monster among men.

Judging by the angle of his gaze, it seemed he knew which apartment was Hakyeon’s. _How_ he found that out was anyone’s guess, but it didn’t matter now. What mattered was that Taekwoon was right. Caleb was looking for a way to get to Hakyeon. And he knew all of the places that Hakyeon would possibly be. After just a bit more casing, he’d determine all the times that he would be there.

He didn’t stay long. He’d looked at the building, then searched the area, neck craned up towards overhangs and shopfronts, probably looking for the locations of possible security cameras. Jaehwan debated whether he should call Taekwoon now, take care of it before it went any further, but if he really was as intoxicated as he’d appeared to be, it wouldn’t be a good time for a confrontation. _If_ he even answered the phone at all.

Never mind. It didn’t matter. The night was still young, he thought, glancing up at the sky. Nearly three, by the position of the heavenly bodies he could see past the winter clouds. And Caleb was leaving; apparently whatever plans he might be hatching were for another time.

Taekwoon had said that Hakyeon wouldn’t want him to go looking for Caleb. He’d said he didn’t want him to follow Caleb. But Hakyeon hadn’t said anything at all about _Jaehwan_. It was a nice little loophole. And that meant it was time to go exploring.

He’d gone to see Hakyeon in the hospital after this pitiful excuse for a man had beaten him. They hadn’t been close friends at that point, they still weren’t, but they were friendly enough for Jaehwan to care. From what Hakyeon had said, Taekwoon stopped Caleb from almost certainly killing him, but what he’d already suffered was bad enough. Battered and bruised, purple marks ingrained in his caramel-colored skin, it made Jaehwan ache just to look at him; he made a stark contrast with the white of the sheets and the white of the bandages. It hurt even more to see how adamantly Hakyeon had stuck to his cheerful disposition, even in pain, even in trauma. He just wanted to make those around him comfortable, even at the expense of his own comfort. It was impossible not to loathe the beast that could do such a thing to such an innocent and free spirit.

He dropped down to the sidewalk, landing silently on the balls of his feet and slung his backpack over his shoulder to rest on his back, calmly following the young man down the darkened street. He had time to see what he was up to. He had all the time in the world.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this side of Caleb made me throw up in my mouth a little. Jussayin.

Caleb walked briskly, his movements smooth and quick, the soles of his shoes making no sound of impact on the empty sidewalk. It surprised Jaehwan somewhat, as the man was solidly built. With his broad shoulders and barrel chest, he seemed the type to walk side to side, the way most big men do, but instead, his stride was smooth and feline.

He took a right turn, then a left, moving from the primarily residential streets into the marketplace. Here, there were more people, more lights, more sound, even in the early morning hours. The hazy lights of fluorescent signs lit his features as he moved past the storefronts, until he reached a small restaurant. He paused for a moment in the warm glow of the window, seeming to briefly consider whether to enter or to continue moving on. Then, decided, he opened the door with a burst of steam.

Jaehwan approached, then waited a few brief moments surrounded by the scent of pork and green onion, before slowly moving toward the glass door.

Caleb was leaning over the counter, calling to a woman, who hustled into view. She was petite, plump, and balancing on the delicate edge between middle and old age, with a single thick, white streak running through her black hair, all of which was pulled back into a neat bun.

She flipped up part of the countertop on a hinge as Jaehwan entered the restaurant quietly and took a seat next to the wall.

“Caleb, my sweet boy,” she exclaimed, pulling him into a warm hug.

“Hi, Eomma,” he said, almost shyly, turning his face into her shoulder. Though only average in height, he still towered over her.

“Why are you up so late?” she fretted, patting at his jaw and pushing the hair back from his forehead. “You look pale. Are you getting sick? Are you taking the red ginseng I gave you?”

He laughed at her fussing, pushing her hands away with an affectionate smile, then holding them in his own. “I’m okay, I promise. I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“That insomnia,” she tutted. “If you had a job with better hours, you’d have a better routine.”

“I’m a chef,” he shrugged. “We work late hours.”

“I know, I just worry. You aren’t sleeping with the fan running, are you?” she asked, then caught Jaehwan’s eyes over his shoulder. “Oh, just a moment,” she called. “I’ll be right with you.”

Caleb barely glanced over at him, not seeming at all concerned with the “customer” who had followed him in, instead focusing all attention on the woman in front of him.

Jaewhan wasn’t completely surprised at the warm behavior of the other man. He’d been quite polite when he’d asked for Hakyeon at the theatre; Jaehwan hadn’t suspected a thing. And he must have been more like this when Hakyeon first met him, otherwise he doubted someone like Hakyeon would have been with him at all. He wondered what happened. Perhaps he was simply a very good actor.

“Have you eaten?” she asked Caleb, in a lower voice, likely for Jaehwan’s benefit; a belated attempt at professionalism. He shook his head.

“I’ll get you something tasty,” she smiled, patting his face again.

She hustled over to Jaehwan as Caleb took a seat nearby and he flashed a crooked grin at her. She was, of course, charmed. All the ahjummas love Lee Jaehwan.

After ordering a coffee and a pastry, he pulled out his mobile phone and surfed through a news website, watching Caleb out of his peripheral vision. He had occupied a table close to Jaehwan’s, facing him, and after shedding his winter coat, withdrew a pocket-sized spiral notebook and a pen out of the pocket of his plaid shirt. In fact, his table was just close enough that the angel might even be able to read what he was writing if he was smooth about it.

Caleb’s face took on a dreamlike quality as he wrote, quickly scribbling down the words in his head, then pausing, thinking, and crossing out a line, finding better words. It was fairly fascinating to watch. Jaehwan couldn’t see the notebook from this angle, as he scrolled aimlessly through his phone. The ahjumma came and went, bringing him his coffee. He tasted it. It was actually quite nice, for such a tiny place. He’d have to come back some time, when the company was better.

The woman presented Caleb with a bubbling pot of buddae jjigae, “with extra cheese” she announced, “just how you like it,” and he praised her cooking excessively before settling in with his spoon. He continued scribbling in his notebook between piping hot bites of soup, and Jaehwan did his best to remain inconspicuous even though he longed to crane his neck in such a way that he could see better. Maybe he should leave? He’d be able to get a glimpse at the document as he stood, but if it wasn’t anything important, that would defeat his entire purpose of coming in here in the first place.

He at least needed to find a new pastime, as this certainly wasn’t working.

There wasn’t anything visible about the man that he hadn’t learned already. It was easy to see that he was fit and strong. He wasn’t a striking beauty by any means, but he had his appeal, Jaehwan supposed, with his gray eyes and freckles. Hakyeon had certainly been the more attractive one in the relationship… That’s right, they’d been in a _relationship_ …

Jaehwan reached out through his bond. As he was bonded, albeit weakly, to Hakyeon, he should be able to feel Caleb as well, as the two humans had touched intimately, presumably many times.

He reached out tentatively, prodded at the energy connecting him to Caleb, then sighed quietly, resigned. It was very weak indeed. He could barely touch at his emotions, just enough to know that there was an edge of agitation running beneath the human’s calm exterior. It felt like a hum, the wavelength short and tense. It was an odd sort of energy. It put his teeth on edge.

He went back to his phone, checking his Twitter account between glances at Caleb, disappointed to see he only had one new follower, and absolutely no retweets. He grumbled under his breath. His tweets were _gold_. Nobody appreciated him the way he should be appreciated.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to stew long about his abandonment, as a few moments later, Caleb stood, taking his empty soup bowl to the counter and calling for “Eomma.”

Finally! The notebook was revealed.

Waiting until the man had disappeared behind the counter seeking his friend (family?), Jaehwan stood quickly, looking over at the paper left on the table, seeking some clue as to the man behind the stony exterior. In jet black ink, with an elegant script, Caleb had written, in English: “Fuck off, blondie. Stop staring at me.”

Jaehwan bit his tongue so hard in the effort not to laugh, it would have bled, were he able to bleed. As it was, he pressed his lips together and forced himself to maintain a straight face as Caleb returned. He didn’t meet his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He knew that Jaewhan had read it. Jaehwan bit his tongue again to suppress his urge to grin. This guy was incredible. It was really _such_ a shame that he was a sociopathic, abusive fuckwad, or they may have been great friends.

Caleb gathered his belongings and put his jacket on. He bid farewell to the restaurant owner and headed back out the steamy door into the December cold.

Jaehwan stood and stretched. He’d give him a second or two to get comfortable that he was alone, before following along. He put his coat back on and left a bill far too large for the cost of a coffee on the table, anchoring it securely with the cup. He called thank you to the woman, and waved at her in farewell, before heading out the door. 

Comfortably turning left and heading down the street, he could feel Caleb in the distance. It was easy to close the distance between them, as Jaehwan never slept and Jaehwan never tired. The human, however, was weary on his feet after the large meal and lack of sleep.

They passed out of the busy marketplace and back into the dark sidestreets. Very few windows were illuminated at this hour and the neighborhood didn’t have many streetlights. For Jaehwan’s eyes, it was perfectly clear, but it must have been unnervingly dark for the man he pursued.

As he turned around another street corner, Caleb glanced over his shoulder, and their eyes met. He turned and began to walk a bit faster. Not really enough to be noticeable to others, but it was clear that he knew now he was being followed.

He turned left, down another street. So did Jaehwan. Now there was about a block separating them, and Jaehwan walked a bit faster, closing the distance, just to see what Caleb would do.

After another block, the young man’s hand slipped into his pocket, the bulge indicating a fist wrapped around an object. Probably a knife, Jaehwan thought casually, or he was threading his keys between his fingers. It didn’t much matter, either way. No mortal object could penetrate his flesh, and depending on Caleb’s strength, an impact might even shatter the metal. That would be quite funny, to see the expression on his face.

Caleb jogged across the next intersection to avoid being caught at a crosswalk, which was about to turn red, and Jaehwan stopped casually, watching him from across the road. There were only two cars passing by at this hour, and though he could have crossed the street through the red signal to regain his proximity, he didn’t.

He watched with a smile as Caleb stepped through the front door of a nondescript apartment building.

If he’d expected anything truly exciting tonight, he would have been disappointed, but while he hadn’t had the real pleasure of outwardly confronting the man, he’d learned several important things about him. He was smart and not likely to be easily fooled. It made the chase far more interesting knowing how observant he was. And he wasn’t afraid of Jaehwan, not that the Power was particularly menacing in appearance, at least in this form, but most people would get nervous knowing they were being followed. It just made Caleb more aggressive. He was an alpha-type, through and through. He was territorial, and what would have been fierce loyalty in another, healthier, person, merely made him possessive. Which made this whole fiasco make sense; he wasn’t going to let Hakyeon go, not when he viewed himself as maintaining ownership over the dancer. That’s what all this was about. Ridiculous.

Jaehwan leaned against the wall, contemplative. From Caleb’s perspective, he likely wouldn’t attempt to go straight to Hakyeon’s home, now, since he would suspect Jaehwan to know he’d been there. That was a positive. And he likely wouldn’t go to the theatre anymore, as it was likely that Caleb would make the connection that Jaehwan had been the person he’d talked to at that rehearsal, if he hadn’t already.

Actually, now that he took a closer look, they weren’t all that far from his own apartment, so that would make keeping an eye on him fairly easy. Though, Jaehwan’s blond hair wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. He ran a hand through the strands, fingering at the fringe. It’s just as well. He had been going to dye it for the show anyway. He’d darken his shade when he got home.

So, that left Hakyeon’s university and his dance studio as the places that he frequented most often. It couldn’t be helped – he was just going to have to have someone with him as much as possible. And if Taekwoon was going to be off on this fool’s errand for The Seer, that left Jaehwan and Hongbin. He was going to have to talk to Hongbin about sticking to Hakyeon for a bit.

A curtain moved in one of the upstairs apartments and it caught Jaehwan’s eye. As he lifted his gaze, Caleb glared down at him from above. He was checking in to see if he was still being watched. Jaehwan smiled and bowed, a grand, sweeping gesture he’d perfected at court, many years ago, just to let him know that he’d seen him, too, then casually turned on his heel and walked up the street. He threw in a bit more sashaying than was probably needed, but he was suddenly in a very good mood. Sometimes one of life’s greatest joys was poking at a sleeping bear with a stick, it kept things exciting, and it seemed Caleb was feeling a little more paranoid than Jaehwan had suspected he would.

Good.

\---

Hakyeon woke the following morning to the caress of warm lips across his own. He instinctively reached out, deepening the kiss. Taekwoon tasted as sweet as he always did; there was not even a hint of the previous night’s sharp tang of alcohol on him. Hakyeon pulled away, to gaze at his beautiful face.

“You’re not still drunk?”

Taekwoon smiled softly and murmured a negative as he closed his mouth over his again.

“And not hungover?” Hakyeon confirmed, coming up for air a few moments later.

“It can’t last as long in a celestial as it does in a human. I feel fine,” he said, trailing his lips down Hakyeon’s jaw to his neck. Relieved, the human tilted his head to the side, granting him access. He could feel his own rising pulse in the hollow of his throat, where Taekwoon was beginning to suck at the thin skin, and he let out a whimper, knowing it would bruise.

“And what has you feeling so amorous?” Hakyeon asked, his body subconsciously beginning to move, seeking his lover’s touch. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath Taekwoon’s wandering hands. “Not that I’m complaining…”

“I missed you,” Taekwoon replied simply. “I want you.”

The angel somehow seemed to produce the lube from out of nowhere, and his hand slipped between Hakyeon’s legs. He spread his thighs willingly, stroking his hand gently over his own cock, building his pleasure as he was worked open. It had been becoming rarer for Hakyeon to bottom, as Taekwoon seemed to enjoy when he took the lead, so it was a nice change, lying back, letting Taekwoon stretch him open, drawing a trail of light marks across his thighs, laving his tongue over his balls, sucking one, then the other into his mouth. Hakyeon gasped, afraid he might come before the angel ever entered him.

Finally, his lover raised up over his body and pressed his lips against Hakyeon’s as he thrust his thick cock inside with one harsh stroke. Taekwoon’s mouth pressed against his own softened the cry that escaped Hakyeon’s throat at the sudden pressure of being filled. Their tongues entwined, and Hakyeon indulged in the taste of Taekwoon’s cool, sweet breath, like a refreshing drink.

Taekwoon was always so soft, always so gentle, but this time, oh fuck, this time he was needier, rougher, than he’d ever been, and it felt so insanely good Hakyeon felt his spine arch up in a way that was nearly painful. He held on to Taekwoon for dear life as his angel’s hips pistoned against his ass, harder and deeper with each thrust.

“Oh fuck!” he cried. “Oh fuck, Taek, just like that, yes!”

He bit down on Taekwoon’s shoulder in a valiant effort to resist screaming out his pleasure. While Taekwoon might like it, his neighbors certainly would not. He sucked hard on Taekwoon’s neck and collarbone and shoulder and scraped his fingernails in rows down the angels back, over the raised tissue that evidenced his wings, wishing he could mark his love the way Taekwoon marked him. But they faded, they always faded.

Taekwoon lifted Hakyeon’s thighs, catching his knees in the crook of his elbows, raising his ass up so he could fuck down into him deeper. Hakyeon threw his head back as he felt the angel’s composure crack and his wings burst out, and suddenly, he could feel it. He could feel Taekwoon’s energy pouring into his body along with all of his emotions. He could feel the love, the passion, the heavy, overwhelming lust, and something that perhaps felt a bit like guilt, but he couldn’t spare a thought for that because suddenly the harsh rhythms of their thrusts were nearly equal. He met Taekwoon’s every thrust with a harsh thrust of his own and he felt like he’d never tire, like he could do this forever, lost in the pleasure of their conjoined bodies. He felt bliss such as he’d never felt before, the energy racing through his bloodstream, the pleasure devastating as he could once again feel the angel’s bliss as well as his own, and they both cried out each other’s name as their orgasms crashed over them in waves.

The fuzzy feeling lasted longer than usual after Hakyeon came. He let out a tiny moan as Taekwoon withdrew from his body, gently letting his legs back down to the mattress, and the angel began to clean the sticky fluid from Hakyeon’s chest with his hot tongue. Each drag and soft flick of the wet muscle against his skin made him shiver.

“You taste so good,” Taekwoon whispered, and Hakyeon whimpered, his entire body sensitive to Taekwoon’s touch. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Hakyeon asked, completely blissed out, unable to think coherently. His eyelids felt heavy, even with the energy lighting up his blood like a sugar rush.

“You wanted me to hold back, to not give you my—”

“It’s fine,” Hakyeon slurred. “More than fine. I’ve never felt so good in my entire life.”

“Me neither,” the angel acknowledged, drawing him into the shelter of his arms and wings.

His eyes slipped shut, unable to hold them open any longer, and as he drifted back off, the last emotion he felt from Taekwoon was an overwhelming sense of relief. For what, he didn’t know.

When he woke again, several hours later, Taekwoon was snoring lightly against his shoulder. That was different. He was always a fairly light sleeper. Hakyeon rose to an elbow to examine him more closely. Taekwoon looked different. He looked pale and drained. And his skin, where Hakyeon had firmly worked it with his lips and teeth, was purpled. The bruises he’d attempted to draw from the angel’s skin had, impossibly, remained.

Hakyeon’s breath caught. He reached out, running his fingers over a dark smudge on Taekwoon’s collarbone. It was nearly as dark as the marks the angel had left on him.

Taekwoon’s snores silenced and his eyes fluttered open at the touch. He smiled, drawing Hakyeon’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi…” Hakyeon responded, still stunned.

“What’s the matter?”

Hakyeon didn’t need to respond, as Taekwoon suddenly stilled, reading his thoughts as easily as those in his own head.

“But, how?” he asked aloud, rolling out of bed and heading over to the wardrobe. There was a full-length mirror on the inside of the door, and he jolted when he opened it and saw his reflection.

He tilted his head to the side, examining the dark splotches on his neck, then leaned in closer to the glass to get a closer look at his collarbone. Hakyeon was just about to stammer an apology when Taekwoon spoke.

“I’m…glad for it,” he said, quietly, staring at himself. Then his eyes met Hakyeon’s in the reflection. “I like wearing the proof that you love me.”

“But what does it mean?”

“It means I’m…I’ve…fucked up a bit,” he said, biting his lip at the use of the improper language.

“Fucked up _how_ , exactly?” Hakyeon asked, sitting up in bed and narrowing his eyes at Taekwoon.

“I’ve let myself become weak,” he sighed, closing the wardrobe and sitting down next to Hakyeon. He smiled reassuringly at Hakyeon, which somehow managed not to be reassuring at all. “Don’t worry about it, though. It will come back.”

“How do you know?”

“The Seer told me.”

“So why didn’t you tell _me_?”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me.” A line appeared between Taekwoon’s wide eyes.

“You do realize that deliberately withholding information is the same as lying, don’t you?” Hakyeon asked, irritably.

“No, it’s not,” the angel protested. “Lying is telling an untruth, with the intention to deceive. Not to speak about something is the intention to protect. There’s a significant difference in meaning as well as in the act.”

“It can also be a means of deceit,” Hakyeon stated flatly, “when the lack of information causes a person to be misled. And do you know what humans say about good intentions?”

“What?” asked a bewildered Malakhim.

“The road to hell is paved with them.”

Taekwoon looked very confused at that, and they didn’t speak again for several minutes, both stewing in their conflicted feelings.

Hakyeon didn’t want to fight with Taekwoon. He didn’t want to be mad at him, because in so many different aspects of life, he really, genuinely, didn’t know any better. Just being in a relationship was completely new to him. Even being in friendships seemed to be a very limited experience for him, since Wonshik and Ken both had known him for so long, he didn’t seem to even need to speak most of the time. If Hakyeon had two millennia to get to know him, perhaps they wouldn’t need to speak, either, but as his life would be so short compared to Taekwoon’s, perhaps he needed to just learn to let things go.

“I’m sorry,” Taekwoon said, a moment later. Hakyeon was certain he didn’t really mean it, since his mind certainly hadn’t changed on the matter in the last five minutes, but he appreciated the attempt at making peace.

“Me, too,” Hakyeon said. “Let’s not fight.” Taekwoon nodded in return.

“Why don’t you go start the shower? And I can join you in a second, after I lay out my clothes?”

Taekwoon didn’t respond, likely still a little flustered, but he stood obediently and went into the bathroom. Hakyeon grabbed his clothes for the day from the wardrobe, laid them out on the bed, and glanced around the room. Taekwoon’s clothes were still on the floor from the night before, and his own dance bag hadn’t been emptied into the laundry hamper yet. He did so, then grabbed Taekwoon’s clothes as well, but as he lifted the garments from the floor, he frowned, his hand falling upon a rather large bulge in the pocket. He reached inside, withdrawing a large wad of fifty-thousand won bills. His jaw dropped. There must be… He began counting, quickly; Twenty-nine bills here. That was almost 1.5 _million_ won just casually folded in his boyfriend’s pocket. What the hell was he doing with so much money?

“Hakyeon?” Taekwoon called.

“I’m coming,” he shouted back, shoving the money back in his pocket and tossing the pants on the bed along with his shirt.

He wrapped his arms around himself for a moment, biting his lip, trying to calm his features. Even after he’d told Taekwoon that he viewed withholding information to be the same as lying, there was obviously something big that he was hiding. But if that’s how they were going to do things, then…

Hakyeon smiled cheerfully and headed for the bathroom to join Taekwoon in the warm water. He didn’t say a word.

And so, things got worse.

The next several days, their time together was spent in the same way it always had. They would pass mornings curled up in each other’s warmth, then find some kind of activity to do together, even something as simple as making breakfast. Taekwoon was getting reasonably good at cooking now. Sometimes he would even eat. Most often, he wouldn’t, but he always sat by Hakyeon to make sure he was eating enough to stay healthy and strong. The next day, Hakyeon showed him the dance he’d choreographed for his audition and Taekwoon showered him with compliments.

But then, each day, when Hakyeon would leave for school or dance (and he was dancing more frequently than usual, due to his upcoming audition), Taekwoon would leave at the same time. He never told him where he was going, or when he would return, but he always managed to make it back in time for rehearsal in the evening, where he would mop the stage, inventory the prop table, patch holes in costumes, or whatever the stage manager had managed to come up with for him. His joy in these tasks, however, had diminished. He had grown even more pale and tired-looking, and almost always, after walking Hakyeon home, would leave again to do more of his celestial work. By the time he got home, he was exhausted and fell into bed to sleep so hard, it was difficult to wake him in the morning.

That morning, Taekwoon had actually set an alarm on his phone, and it woke Hakyeon as it blared next to the angel’s head. He didn’t so much as flinch, even when Hakyeon crawled over him to turn it off, himself.

“Woon-ah? Taekwoon?” He shook him hard, and the angel finally stirred. He blinked up at Hakyeon with sleep-blurred eyes and looked so much like a drowsy kitten, Hakyeon barely resisted the urge to croon.

“Why did you set your alarm?”

Taekwoon turned to look at his phone’s display, reading 8:15, and frowned. “I have to go to a meeting,” he groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“A meeting?” Hakyeon asked skeptically. “Angels have meetings?”

“No, but humans do,” Taekwoon sighed, sitting up and swinging his feet to the floor.

Hakyeon swallowed hard, leaning back into his pillow and fighting the lump in his throat. He felt like he should be angry, but really, he was just sad.

“You’ve only been home for four hours. Are you ever going to tell me what this is all about?” His voice broke on the last syllable, achingly, humiliatingly, and though the angel had just about gotten to his feet, he leaned back into the mattress, rolling towards Hakyeon.

“Yes, darling. I promise. I know this is hard on you, but I promise one day I will tell you everything.”

He allowed Taekwoon to press a single, soft kiss to his lips, then watched miserably as he went into the bathroom to wash. He left about ten minutes later. Hakyeon pretended to be sleeping. He wasn’t sure if Taekwoon really fell for it, he probably didn’t, but it was probably obvious enough that he didn’t want to talk.

After the front door closed behind Taekwoon, Hakyeon’s eyes popped back open and he stared at the ceiling. He should probably get out of bed and start getting ready for the day. He only had two more days to prepare for his audition and technically, he’d been granted permission to use the studio for three hours before his class. If he stayed here, he wasn’t going to use it. And that was incredibly stupid. It would be a complete and utter waste, but the fact remained that, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to do anything but stay in bed and feel sorry for himself. And that’s what upset him most of all.

Because he was doing it all over again. He was letting his confused feelings control his life. He didn’t want it, he didn’t ask for it, but if he was going to be getting all this power from Taekwoon, he might as well _do_ something with it, right? But no, that was the point, he didn’t need his stupid holy energy. He’d become a fantastic fucking dancer all on his own, before he even believed in the existence of angels. He didn’t need an angel. He didn’t need a boyfriend. He didn’t need anyone or anything but himself. He didn’t _need_ Taekwoon.

He threw back the blankets and stomped into the bathroom, the door squeaking loudly on its hinges, startling Ink, who was fast asleep in the sink. He got in the shower, dressed, packed his bags, and headed out to the studio. But by the time he got there, his anger had lost all of its heat, somewhere in the winter chill.

The receptionist waved him in with a warm smile he couldn’t seem to return. He just waved back her greeting and trudged up the stairs, already feeling exhausted.

But the restlessness in his body remained, even as his mind moved slowly, and for hours, he let the music take dominance over his turbulent emotions and he danced as he’d never danced before. He raised the volume high so that he couldn’t think of anything but the rhythm and the rise of the crescendo and the way he jumped so high with his new strength that he felt like he could fly, so when he landed, the mirrors rattled in their pins. The camera kept rolling and he ignored it, losing himself in the dance until a voice in the doorway cried, “Hakyeon!”

He spun toward the sound, startled from his trance, and a sudden burst of pain caused him to drop to the floor.

Hongbin clicked a button on the remote sitting next to the video camera and rushed towards him, grabbing his arms. It was grounding, feeling his warmth, and Hakyeon suddenly realized that he felt dizzy. It was good he was already sitting because he likely would have lost his balance then. Hakyeon only had time to wonder what that horrible grating noise was before he realized that he was sobbing.

“Hakyeon, your _feet_ ,” Hongbin exclaimed, and Hakyeon looked down. Welling from beneath the laces and around the hems of his dance shoes was blood, bright red blood, tinged with shimmering gold. Blood tracked all over the floor in brilliant, spiroglyphic patterns, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight like mandalas, like art, smeared and ruined near his body as he’d fallen to the hardwood. He wondered if Hongbin would notice the color was wrong – it seemed to be all Hakyeon could see.

“You didn’t even notice?” Hongbin gasped, grasping his friend’s face. Hakyeon looked up at him, his friend’s handsome, familiar features swimming as his eyes welled. “Stay there,” he ordered.

As if Hakyeon could have moved. Hongbin went to the cabinet nearest the windows and withdrew what Hakyeon already knew would be the first aid kit and carried his dance bag over.

Hakyeon sat, quietly and submissively, as the other man gently removed his shoes, bathed his feet in water from his untouched water bottle, and dried them gently with paper towels. He cleaned the wounds with sterile pads, moist with liquid that stung and made his flesh feel cold, then bandaged them. He covered them then with clean socks from Hakyeon’s dance bag.

“Come on,” he said, pulling Hakyeon to his feet, then swiftly lifting him into his arms with a huff and carrying him to a bench in the hall.

There he remained, staring at the wall, for an indeterminate amount of time, as Hongbin dashed down the hall and returned with the janitor’s mop, cleaned the studio floor, and returned the equipment.

When he was done, he came and sat next to Hakyeon on the bench, looking at him warily. This time, Hakyeon was able to meet his eyes.

“Are you back?” Hongbin murmured. Hakyeon nodded.

“What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” Hakyeon sighed. “I was trying not to think.”

Hongbin handed him his water bottle. He raised it to his lips and took a few shaky sips.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked. “How did you know where I was?”

“You have your audition coming up, and I happened to know that Taekwoon is with Wonshik right now. There was only one place you could be.”

Touché, Hakyeon thought.

“But why were you looking for me?”

“Taekwoon and Wonshik were having an argument. I overheard some of it,” Hongbin confessed. “I don’t think he realized I was still in the apartment. But Wonshik was telling him he had to do something, and Taekwoon didn’t want to do it, because he said you were already mad at him, and he didn’t want to do something that was going to make you hate him. And Wonshik told him he didn’t have a choice and couldn’t disobey a direct order, I’m assuming from their boss, and then Wonshik told him to shut up about it because I was there.” He sighed. “I know none of that is particularly informative, but whatever work Taekwoon is doing right now, he really doesn’t seem to want to be doing, for what that’s worth to you. And you’ve been looking so down lately, I thought you’d want to know.”

Hakyeon shrugged. Regardless of whether he wanted to or not, he was still doing it, and still hiding it from Hakyeon.

It took both of them to get his shoes back on, and he hissed in pain at the pressure.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s going to suck tonight,” Hongbin frowned. “I’ll get us a cab to rehearsal. Thank God tonight’s the sitzprobe.”

Hakyeon breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He’d forgotten that they’d be rehearsing with the orchestra for the first time tonight, which meant he’d be sitting and singing, instead of bounding all over the stage. That would allow him to rest and heal a bit.

They arrived at the theatre a little early, since they didn’t have to take the subway, and Hongbin managed to procure one of the “good” painkillers from Jaeho, who had a recent knee injury, and made sure that Hakyeon swallowed it, along with another bottle of water with electrolyte mix blended in, and half a sandwich he’d snagged from the café next door.

With the drugs dimming some of the pain, Hakyeon was able to think a bit more clearly. Unfortunately, that also meant he was able to hear Taekwoon better. Or rather, he could feel him. His thoughts were not audible, but his emotions he could feel as plain as day. Taekwoon was upset, uncomfortable with something that was happening. He was not exactly fearful, but he was on edge. Hakyeon hated the feeling. It made him feel helpless, that he could do nothing. Taekwoon felt far away.

As they worked their way through the first act, allowing the musicians to hear their voices, to acclimate to the way they performed the songs, Hakyeon could feel Taekwoon drawing nearer. He hated the fact that his soul seemed to settle, the closer he got. He didn’t _need_ Taekwoon, he insisted to himself. Yet, he needed him more than anything.

Sometime during _The Mirror-Blue Night_ , Taekwoon entered the theatre. Hakyeon felt his presence immediately. It was warm, like sinking into the bath. He didn’t want to be angry, and yet, he still wanted Taekwoon to know exactly how awful all of this was making him feel.

He did his best not to look up, instead, trying to focus on his singing. Unfortunately, that didn’t help much, as the lyrics resonated too deeply.

> _But there's nowhere to hide from these bones, from my mind_  
>  It's broken inside- I'm a man and a child  
>  I'm at home with a ghost who got left in the cold  
>  Who knocks at my peace, with no keys to my soul

He hated it so much, hated feeling this way. And from next to him, as Hongbin’s baritone voice filled his ears with _And the whispers of fear, the chill up the spine, Will steal away too, with a flick of the light..._ Hakyeon looked up and met Taekwoon’s eyes.

The angel’s face appeared bloodless as he stared back at Hakyeon, gaunt and pale, and as Hakyeon sang again, he could see a tear running down his lover’s cheek.

> _But there's nowhere to hide from the ghost in my mind_  
>  It's cold in these bones- of a man and a child  
>  And there's no one who knows, and there's nowhere to go  
>  There's no one to see who can see to my soul

He could see that teardrop all the way from where he sat on the stage. He could see the moisture on Taekwoon’s cheek as it trailed down to his pale throat. He could have counted the hairs whispering across Taekwoon’s forehead. He could hear the angel’s light breaths, could hear his heart beating. And it was wrong. It was all wrong. They’d crossed some kind of line and his body couldn’t keep up with it. His feet had certainly been the proof of that. Power of this magnitude was never meant to reside in his mortal frame and now they both knew it.

And Taekwoon, well, Taekwoon looked like he was dying.

The chorus sang through _I Believe_ , then they were allowed a fifteen-minute break. Hakyeon stayed where he was. He wasn’t ready to talk to Taekwoon quite yet. He hadn’t decided what he was going to say about what happened today and it would have brought the issue up immediately if Taekwoon saw him hobbling about on his blistered and battered feet.

Hongbin, however, had other plans.

Sweet Hongbin, loyal Hongbin, brave Hongbin, who loved Hakyeon far more than he deserved, marched up the center aisle of the auditorium, grabbed Taekwoon by the arm and dragged him into the lobby. It may have protected the ears of the rest of the cast, but still, Hakyeon could hear every word.

Hongbin told him exactly what happened, using frightening words such as ‘unresponsive’ and ‘self-mutilation.’ He told him about the blood on the floor and his macabre dance, in vivid detail, until Hakyeon folded in on himself, not wanting to hear anymore, but he couldn’t stop. He heard Hongbin’s harsh words, saying that Taekwoon had promised to take care of him, that Wonshik had sworn Taekwoon would never hurt Hakyeon, then a sharp “Stop crying!” and the sound of an impact. Had Hongbin struck Taekwoon?

Hakyeon missed the next part of the conversation, struggling to get to his feet, to protect his love to his very last breath, with his already-broken body and his already fragile mind, when Hongbin returned to the auditorium. Taekwoon didn’t follow behind him. His jaw was clenched in anger and he had absolutely no idea, the power of the forces he’d been confronting.

“What did you do?” whispered Hakyeon.

Hongbin grabbed both of his hands. Hakyeon looked down to see that they were shaking so hard it was causing Hongbin to vibrate as well. He clenched them into fists, to try to stop their movement.

“Did you hurt him?” he asked.

“Hurt him?” Hongbin looked startled. “No.”

“I heard a sound,” Hakyeon insisted.

“Taekwoon….he had to grab onto something and his hand slapped down on the ticket counter,” Hongbin said. “He’s not hurt. He’s just upset.”

“Where is he?”

“I told him to stay at his own apartment tonight.”

Hakyeon gasped. “Why?”

“I’m going to stay with you.”

Hakyeon shook his head adamantly. “You can’t. I need him.”

“Hakyeon, I think you need to take a couple steps back. If you’re this upset—”

“I _need_ him,” he insisted, his hands starting to shake again. Hongbin clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ground together.

“Fine. If you’re going to insist on it, I can’t do anything to change it, but you’re going to have to tell him that you want him. Because I’m sure as hell not. And when he goes to work with Wonshik tomorrow night, because you know they will, I’m coming over. It’s our day off rehearsal and I want us to have a nice night together. No boyfriends. Just friends, together, the way we always did before all this other bullshit started getting in the way. It will be fun.”

That sounded reasonable to Hakyeon, a good compromise, to save Taekwoon’s glass heart and to keep Hongbin’s temper from flaring. He was about to answer.

“Can I come?” a voice asked, softly, from behind Hakyeon.

He turned around to see Ken, looking hesitant, and almost delicate, with his new light brown hair shining under the stage lights. It softened his features and made him actually look almost angelic.

“I…could also use a friend,” he said, hopefully.

Hakyeon looked at Hongbin, who was looking reluctantly at Ken. Then he nodded.

“Yes,” he said to Hongbin, then, “Yes,” to Ken.

Just friends. No boyfriends. It would be fun.


	31. Chapter 31

As he’d stood in the auditorium Watching Hakyeon sing his sorrows in a voice high and sweet, the guilt weighed upon Taekwoon like a stone around his neck. He’d hoped they would have time to talk after their tense morning together, but it appeared that Hakyeon was still angry and hurt. He probably wouldn’t want to talk.

Taekwoon truly hated having to walk this fine line of half-truths and omissions, but he’d been told not to tell anyone, by both Sanghyuk and Wonshik, about his mission. They didn’t seem to recognize, or at least didn’t acknowledge, how unusually perceptive Hakyeon was. It had barely been a week, and he was already feeling the strain.

Because the truth that he couldn’t tell Hakyeon was this:  he’d forced himself out of bed this morning to go on a date. A breakfast date. With Na Seo-yeon: the infamous “Candy.”

For what little it was worth, they were both faking the relationship, so he didn’t have to worry about feelings being involved (at least between the two of them – Hakyeon’s were another matter), but it was already growing incredibly tiresome, pretending to be romantically interested. All of their interactions had the same basic formula: he would pretend to want her. She would pretend to be shy. She would pull him close, then push him away coyly, while he paid for meals he didn’t want to eat, and adorned her with expensive trinkets, or pushed cash into her hands for her “textbooks” and dance classes. He happened to know she wasn’t actually going to university, because he’d been following her for a week and she never went to a college campus once. She _was_ taking dance classes, though when he’d Watched, invisible and wedged into an unused corner of the studio, she was good, but not nearly as good as The Dancer.

In fact, all this assignment was doing was making him appreciate His Dancer more.

Taekwoon would gaze into her pretty brown eyes, framed with thick, artificial lashes, and yearn for another pair of eyes, dark, fathomless, that looked at him with trust and adoration, rather than acquisition. He would reach out, smiling, and flirtatiously tug at the ends of the soft, brown hair, laying around her shoulders in waves. It was finer than Hakyeon’s and would probably be quite soft, if it weren’t bleached and dyed and coated with so much styling spray. Hakyeon’s hair was coarser and much shorter, so that when Taekwoon touched it, he could feel the warmth of his skin as well. Hakyeon’s hair smelled only of Hakyeon; hers was layered in perfume. Her skin was soft, though, and she was so small, she only came up to Taekwoon’s chest, so that he had to bend down quite far at the waist to brush his lips over her cheek when they said goodbye. Her lips, he wouldn’t touch. Not ever. That would be blasphemy.

It resulted in many empty hours, longing for Hakyeon. He really didn’t care that she was lying, because to her, men could only be a means to an end. This had been something that was taught and learned through experience and repetition, and it was sad that she had become so jaded at such a young age, but that was part of why he was with her – to help her, to get her out, to keep the bad men from harming her. And at least he knew that while he was with her, those kind of men weren’t going to lay a hand on her.

So, this was what he’d built, so far. When he was with her, she would giggle and flirt and act timid. When he was away, she would send him text messages on his phone full of aegyo and cute animal emojis. He would always respond, say that he missed her, that he couldn’t wait to see her again. But it was all empty. He would have actually felt bad if he hadn’t been able to read her thoughts so easily the day she’d grabbed his hand.

It had been a few days before, when she’d, much to his surprise, climbed into his lap. Her dance was done and she’d been left in nothing but her gold bikini when she straddled his hips, taken his hand in her own, and slid the back of it down the smooth expanse of shimmering bronzed skin from her ribs all the way down to her thigh. Her bare skin was hot to the touch and he’d shivered, which she seemed to find amusing. She’d whispered something in his ear, but he couldn’t hear it, with the way the beat of the music was throbbing in his head, and taking his silence for acquiescence, she’d drawn him to his feet, and into a back room, where she’d danced for him alone, stripping off her bikini top and wrapping her legs around his waist.

She’d gone so far as to take his hand and brush his fingertips over her breast before he’d recoiled so hard, she’d been ejected from his lap directly onto the floor. She couldn’t stop laughing as he’d folded over on himself, only the crown of his head visible from where she sat, cackling with mirth.

He hadn’t expected it, because through her emotions, she didn’t want him at all. He knew he was reasonably attractive in his disguise, but, at the risk of sounding vain, perhaps he was more attractive in his natural form? Anyway, she didn’t have any actual desire for him, but she wasn’t afraid of him. She recognized him from when he’d been there before, and from what little she knew, she seemed to like him. That’s when she asked him on a date. Also unexpected. He thought he would have to be the one doing the asking and hadn’t thought to do so for at least another week or two, but perhaps Wonshik had been right and the fact that Taekwoon hadn’t tried to force himself on her had made him seem non-threatening.

After their “date,” he’d left with nothing more than a stomachache from the eggs he’d consumed. She left with a pair of diamond and sapphire earrings he’d purchased the day before. As they walked to the subway station, he scrutinized her carefully as she admired a designer handbag in a shop window and made a mental note to pick it up before he saw her again. But then he was angry at himself. He wanted to be buying nice gifts for Hakyeon instead.

He left her at the subway with little fanfare and without any skinship. She appeared confused, but he was feeling glum and didn’t care enough to change that. So they headed in opposite directions, promising to speak again soon. He needed to find Wonshik.

Unfortunately, when he’d managed to slip into a place secluded enough to disappear through the veil and emerged on the other side, directly into Wonshik’s living room, he’d been unable to convince him to change anything about their shoddy plan, and he couldn’t even let out any of his aggressions through a proper argument, as Hongbin had been still asleep in Wonshik’s bed.

He didn’t feel at all like being generous with his patience today, and he was very irritated at Wonshik following this discovery. He hadn’t even gone to the club that night; he’d been home making love to his human and neglecting his responsibilities, which is exactly what Taekwoon would have rather been doing. He slammed his own bedroom door and dropped into his long-neglected bed, feeling mutinous.

It wasn’t his intention at all, but heedless of his anger, his head was swimming with exhaustion from his long night, and it was only moments before he fell asleep. By the time he woke up, the sky had once again grown dark, and he fumbled for his phone in a panic. 19:14 - he was already late to rehearsal.

And that’s what brought him to the auditorium, then to struggling with his tears alone in the lobby.

The audience door slammed behind Hongbin’s back, and even after everything he’d said, everything that had happened, Taekwoon couldn’t help but feel a funny little jolt of fondness towards the handsome human who fought tooth and nail to protect the man they both dearly loved. He rubbed his hand over the cheek where Hongbin had slapped him. It throbbed a bit, and Taekwoon knew that was because he’d allowed himself to become so weak. He probably wouldn’t have felt any pain, before.

He’d never been struck in anger before. He couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it, though. He knew he’d been hurting Hakyeon, but he hadn’t realized how badly. And the image of His Dancer alone and in agony, dancing until his feet bled while Taekwoon slept, oblivious, only blocks away, only made him cry harder.

Though it was torture, it was good, better, that he knew. Taekwoon swore to himself and to God that he would account for every one of his sins, every time he had made Hakyeon feel pain, and he would atone for them. For every single one, no matter how long it took.

He leaned against the ticket counter, hearing the sound of steps approaching. He wondered if Hongbin might be coming back to finish him off. But no, he could hear the conversation between Hakyeon and Hongbin, inside. He was so grateful to Hakyeon, defending him, even as angry as he was. His love was so strong – Taekwoon didn’t deserve him. The angel didn’t listen to the rest. He was good at blocking out distractions and the auditorium was growing louder as the cast began to return from their break.

He finished wiping the tears from his cheeks. He would go home and do something nice for Hakyeon. Candles. A bath. Something nice to eat. He would take care of him for tonight, and tomorrow, he and Wonshik were taking a day off. Whether he wanted to or not. Whatever it took, Taekwoon was going to fix things.

He’d no sooner turned to head out the door into the night when his eyes fell upon a figure, standing near a pillar across the lobby, waiting. Caleb smiled at him, more of a smirk, really, and straightened.

“Leo,” he said in greeting.

Taekwoon looked him up and down. He’d never really felt something even akin to hate before, not toward any other creature he’d ever encountered, but he found that he did, in fact, hate this gray-eyed monster. He loathed him.

“Caleb,” he replied. The taste of bile filled his mouth. “I think you should leave.”

“What’s the matter?” he asked innocently. “Why should I leave? I didn’t do anything.”

“You aren’t supposed to be near him,” Taekwoon said, taking a step forward, trying to look menacing.

“I’m not near him. I’m not in the auditorium.” The human said, rubbing his ear in a manner insinuating boredom. “I can’t come within 100 meters of him, right? I’d say this is about twice that. I’m not in his home. And he’s not employed by the theatre. It’s a public venue. Therefore, I’m not in his place of employment. I’m obviously not stalking him. This is the first time I’ve seen him in over a month.”

“So, you did see him.”

“I saw him walk in,” he replied.

“And you’ve thought of every loophole around seeing him.”

“And then some,” he leered.

“So, what is it that you want?” The other man shifted from one foot to the other and placed a hand on his cocked hip.

“I want to know when he’s going to get his shit out of my apartment.”

Taekwoon must have made some kind of outward indication of surprise, because the man rolled his eyes.

“What, did you expect me to beg the slut to come back or something? You can have him.” He scoffed at the danger in Taekwoon’s gaze. “Oh, I see. You _do_ have him. I figured as much.”

“Don’t call him names. I’ll come get his things.”

“No. Not you. Someone else.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you’re an asshole and don’t want you in my house.”

Taekwoon shrugged. That was fair. The feeling was mutual.

“I’ll tell Hakyeon. We’ll find someone else.” Caleb nodded.

“He has my number.”

He turned around and walked out the heavy doors, letting them fall shut behind him. He certainly knew how to make an entrance. Or, exit, Taekwoon supposed.

“Me! Ooh! Let it be me!” Jaehwan begged, appearing out of nowhere, raising his hand and jumping up and down in excitement. Taekwoon blinked.

“I want to go to Caleb’s apartment,” Jaehwan grinned.

“Can you be nice?”

“Why would I want to be nice?” Jaehwan pooh-poohed the idea. “I want to scare the living hell out of him.”

“I don’t want to antagonize him,” Taekwoon exhaled. “It will just make him more—”

“I’ll go tomorrow!” Jaehwan said cheerfully, disappearing again in a blink.

“How do you even know where he—” Taekwoon’s voice trailed off and he sighed. Life was so much easier when he just Watched.

\---

When Hakyeon finished rehearsal, he took out his phone to text Taekwoon, but saw that there were already messages waiting for him.

                _Hongbin said you hurt your foot._

Yeah, he guessed that was one way to describe what Hongbin had said.

                _I’m sending a cab for you, so you don’t have to walk home._

Hakyeon blinked a bit in disbelief, but sure enough, as he looked out of the lobby windows, there was a taxi sitting in front of the auditorium, looking like a beautiful oasis of warmth against the falling snow.

“Is that for you?” Hongbin asked, walking alongside him. Hakyeon nodded.

“Good,” he replied. “Don’t forget about tomorrow.”

“I won’t forget.”

It was a pleasant ride home, with the neon lights flashing by, warm and comfortable in the wide back seat. There was classical music playing quietly in the background, and by the time they pulled up in front of his apartment building, Hakyeon was drowsy and his eyes felt heavy.

“It’s already paid for,” the driver told him, and he smiled and gave the man a little bow as he exited straight into the building.

When he opened his front door, the apartment was dim, but there was a cluster of his candles sitting on the kitchen counter, filling the space with soft, flickering light, and a dinner plate of some kind of stir fry laid out for him along with rice and side dishes. Taekwoon was ladling soup into a bowl.

“Welcome home, love,” he said quietly, the corners of his mouth quirking tentatively into a hint of a smile.

Hakyeon’s heart compressed at his expression, so cautious and questioning. He obviously thought Hakyeon was still angry and had prepared for rejection. Taekwoon was so beautiful in his oversized sweater and pajama pants, he wondered why the angel ever wore anything else. Even in the low light, with the way Taekwoon’s sweater drooped casually from his neckline, Hakyeon could see the faint marks of hickies he’d left a few days before littered across his skin. It made him feel somewhat smug, knowing he’d finally left his mark upon his lover, and he was showing it so openly.

“I thought you might like to eat first, but there’s also pajamas on the bed, if you want those,” Taekwoon continued carefully, “Or would you like a bath? I got some more of the rose oil you like.”

Hakyeon stared at Taekwoon, still a bit flabbergasted by the attention. He nudged his shoes off, though, wincing a little at the pain and attempted to put on his slippers.

Sensing his struggle, Taekwoon placed the soup bowl on the counter, then dropped to his knees next to Hakyeon, carefully guiding the slipper onto one foot, then the other, then assisted Hakyeon into sitting on the stool in front of his meal.

He’d just about risen to his feet when Hakyeon stopped him.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Taekwoon asked innocently.

“That shadow on your cheek. You—” Hakyeon trailed off, resting his hand against Taekwoon’s cheek, which was hot and inflamed. The angel shot him a guilty look, and Hakyeon was able to easily read in his expression what had happened. He didn’t even need the image that flashed through Taekwoon’s mind of his best friend slapping him, but it just confirmed what he already knew.

“Hongbin!” he burst out, suddenly. “He said he didn’t hit you!”

Taekwoon muttered something about how technically, he said he didn’t _hurt_ him, not that he didn’t hit him, but Hakyeon wasn’t in the mood for technicalities.

“You _are_ hurt. Your cheek is bruised.”

“I’m okay, Hakyeon. He was right. I deserved it. You were hurt because of me.”

“I got hurt because I was angry and distracted and not taking care of myself even though I was fully aware that I was all hyped up on your energy. It was my fault, not yours.”

Taekwoon tried to argue, to take the blame back upon himself, but Hakyeon shut him up quickly with a kiss. Their lips moved together, first with heavy intent, then becoming softer, more gentle, in an odd reversal of their usual growing desire.

“I don’t want to fight,” Hakyeon whispered against the angel’s lips. Taekwoon just kissed him again.

That was better.

Taekwoon urged him then to eat his dinner, before it got cold, and Hakyeon was once again impressed with how much he’d improved at the task over the past weeks. He obviously paid close attention to Hakyeon’s likes and dislikes, as his soup suddenly had extra noodles and no cilantro and only a hint of chili oil, because he liked the flavor, but couldn’t take the heat, and by the time he’d finished, he was feeling even more drowsy.

He allowed Taekwoon to lead him to the bathroom and into a warm bath scented with rose. Taekwoon joined him at his request, and Hakyeon leaned back against the angel’s smooth chest while he bathed him gently, running a sponge over his skin and washing his hair with such gentle hands, Hakyeon was certain he’d drifted off at some point.

Taekwoon carried him to bed when he was clean, laying him down naked on the sheets. The bedding had been changed, so it was fresh and soft, and Hakyeon turned into the warmth of the angel’s body as he lay down beside him and rubbed his face against Taekwoon’s sternum.

With their whole bodies touching, it was hard to tell where Taekwoon’s thoughts began and Hakyeon’s ended, and gentle words flooded through him at he began to lose consciousness.

_Just a bit longer, my darling. Trust me, everything will be okay. I’ll make this better. I will make up for every moment that has hurt you. Just hold on, my dearest. I love you. I love you. I love you._

Dreams took him shortly after, where he and Taekwoon were together outside a window, watching a pair of ballet dancers doing a pas de deux within. The dark wings encircling him kept him safe and warm, and he felt as light and graceful in his lover’s embrace as the dancers themselves appeared, enfolded in each other’s arms. When he awoke, abruptly, it was still nighttime and Taekwoon was asleep by his side, his wings wrapped around them both. Hakyeon easily spotted what it was that had woken him. Ink was snuffling around, attempting to push his way into the shelter of Taekwoon’s wings. Hakyeon gently raised the wing, ever so slightly, allowing the little cat to make his way between their bodies, where he curled, purring, in their combined warmth. Hakyeon snuggled closer, too, letting Taekwoon’s silky feathers fall back into place, sliding over his bare skin.

It shouldn’t feel as welcome as it does. It shouldn’t feel so affectionate or so erotic. It should feel slightly surreal, shouldn’t it? Knowing that his boyfriend was really, truly, an angel should be strange. But somehow, being wrapped up in his wings didn’t feel like a fantasy. It felt like home.

He’d definitely made the right decision, he thought, not telling Taekwoon to stay away. Even when they disagreed or got frustrated with one another, they always had this to come back to. They always could wrap each other up safely in their arms and find peace. And with that thought, he drifted off back to sleep.

When Hakyeon woke again, Taekwoon was draped heavily over his side and he was feeling overly hot. The hair stuck to his neck from where he was sweating. Even long after what should have been sunrise, it was dark in the room, and Hakyeon felt disoriented by the overwhelming grayness that had enveloped the city, blocking out the daylight.

He’d been nudged awake by his phone’s vibrations on the side table, and as he rolled over to check the message, he could feel Taekwoon stirring behind him. He couldn’t remember the last time they had slept in.

“What’s that?” the angel murmured.

“Hongbin,” Hakyeon replied.

The message read that Hongbin planned to come over in the mid-afternoon and that Jaehwan would be there around the same time. Hakyeon sent back a simple, “ _K_ ,” knowing that would annoy his friend the most, then tossed the phone back down.

As Hakyeon fidgeted a bit, trying to make himself comfortable, and Taekwoon, still only one eye open and exuding exhaustion, wrapped his arm around Hakyeon, dragging him to his chest.

“Oof,” Hakyeon huffed. “Careful you don’t smoosh Inky.”

“He’s in the sink,” Taekwoon mumbled into Hakyeon’s damp hair.

“How do you know?”

“I can hear him.”

Hakyeon stilled and listened. To his utter amazement, he realized that Taekwoon was right. He could hear the cat’s heartbeat and soft, steady breathing. His senses were truly extraordinary now. Taekwoon sighed, having read him like an open book.

“I shouldn’t be able to hear that,” Hakyeon stated flatly.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Taekwoon agreed. “I’m going to be very careful from now on.”

“My blood was gold,” Hakyeon whispered, after a moment’s silence. Taekwoon stiffened.

“What?”

“Well, not entirely,” Hakyeon clarified. “It was still red, but you could see gold shining in it when the sun shone on the floor in the dance studio.”

Taekwoon didn’t say anything in return, but after a few more moments of listening to the angel’s breaths, the rhythm was thrown off, and he could tell the angel had started to weep.

“What’s the matter?” Hakyeon asked, trying to turn around in Taekwoon’s arms, but he held him too tightly.

“Thank you for telling me,” Taekwoon said, a hitch in his voice. “I had no idea.”

“What’s wrong?” He was starting to be able to feel the way his hair was growing increasingly wet in the back from Taekwoon’s tears.

“I could have killed you, Hakyeon,” he whispered. “You’re not made to handle that kind of power inside of you.”

“But I feel…” Hakyeon frowned. He had been going to say that he felt fine, but he realized it wasn’t true. In fact, he felt a little sick. Like that feeling before he came down with the flu, where his heart is beating just a little too fast and his temperature was just a little too warm. He was woozy.

“How are your feet?” Taekwoon asked. Hakyeon raised one foot hesitantly from beneath the sheets pooled at his waist, but just the slip of the fabric over his skin told him exactly what Taekwoon already suspected. They were completely healed. And not just the damage he’d caused to them yesterday, but somehow, miraculously, the pink scar he had from when he’d had bone spurs removed was gone. His little toe, which had always been just a bit wonky from when he’d broken it as a child, was straight and even.

He took his hand off Taekwoon’s thigh, where he’d rested it as they cuddled and looked at his forearm. He’d had a scar from when Caleb threw him into the bookcase. The scar was gone. His skin was perfectly unflawed and smooth as a child’s. 

“Well, shit,” he muttered. Taekwoon hummed in agreement. “What does it mean?”

“It means we should wait to make love again,” Taekwoon said quietly. “Since I can’t be trusted not to hurt you.”

“But I trust you,” Hakyeon protested.

“You shouldn’t.”

Hakyeon didn’t know how to argue with the stubborn angel, who was obviously beating himself up.

“Shouldn’t you warn Wonshik, then?” he asked, finally. “About Hongbin?” Taekwoon shook his head.

“Wonshik has much better control than I do. Hongbin is fine.”

“How is he fine? He was able to hit you hard enough to bruise you!”

“I’m not denying he is stronger, but I don’t believe he’s at any risk with Wonshik.”

Hakyeon sighed. They lay there in silence for a while, and he could feel Taekwoon slowly calming. He didn’t like to think about what could be going on in the angel’s head, though, as he had firmly shut the bond between them as though slamming closed a set of heavy doors. That was never a sign of anything good.

“Taekwoon,” he asked, after a while longer. The angel made a small inquiring noise.

“You said you’ve seen Heaven, and that it is real.”

“I have. It is.”

“Well, what about Hell? Does that mean Hell is real, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hell – I mean, you’re an angel, I’m sure you’ve never seen it, but what do you know about it?”

“I don’t understand.”

Hakyeon wiggled in Taekwoon’s arms, turning to look into his face. Was he trying to hide something? It seemed a pretty easy question.

“Are you being deliberately obtuse? You told me about Heaven. I want you to tell me about Hell now.”

“I honestly don’t know what you mean.”

Hakyeon would have thought that he was fucking with him, if it weren’t for Taekwoon’s expression, wide-eyed and guileless. He seemed to genuinely have _no_ clue as to what Hakyeon was talking about.

“Where Satan lives,” he prompted.

“Who?”

“Beelzebub! The Devil! Mephistopheles. Lucifer. El Diablo!”

Taekwoon shook his head in confusion. “I know Lucifer. Not personally, of course, but I know of him. He’s an archangel. One of the highest. Are we speaking of the same Lucifer?”

“The fallen angel?”

“He has not fallen. He is an archangel. They cannot fall.”

“The one who attempted to overthrow heaven and was cast out.”

“That is a lie. Where did you hear this?”

“At church. In the bible. Are you telling me the bible isn’t true?”

Taekwoon’s forehead had visible creases from confusion and concern. Hakyeon was feeling somewhat angry now. How could an angel have no idea what Hell was? It seemed ludicrous.

“All religions are true, all are untrue,” Taekwoon repeated. “Anything written by humans is a guide, nothing more. I haven’t read the bible myself, but—"

“You’re an angel and you haven’t read the bible?”

“I was busy Watching,” he said, somewhat petulantly. This was going to warrant some more thought at another time. Hakyeon wondered if Wonshik or Ken might know something more.

“So, demons aren’t real?”

Taekwoon’s face lit up at finally having an answer to a question. “Oh, yes, demons are real. Powers, like Jaehwan, are the warriors of heaven, and battle demons for the protection of heaven and earth.”

“Ken is a warrior?” Now _that_ was an odd mental image.

Taekwoon nodded. “One of the best. He is very powerful.”

“He said he would show me his wings,” Hakyeon said, a wicked grin slowly blooming on his face. Taekwoon’s brow dropped instantly.

“You behave yourself, Cha Hakyeon,” he grumbled.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll—” the angel trailed off, thinking hard.

“Or you’ll what? Punish me?” Hakyeon’s smile grew wider. “How will you do that? Will you spank me?”

He jutted his butt out toward the angel. If he was so determined not to be physically intimate until he was stronger, at least Hakyeon could have fun testing his limits.

\---

Hongbin pressed his cheek harder into the pillow, his eyes barely open, letting out a soft cry as Wonshik sank back into him, pushing even deeper.

They’d been making love for what must have been hours, moving so slowly, Hongbin had been drifting in and out of sleep, bliss and exhaustion overtaking one another in turns. Wonshik seemed to have limitless stamina, and with the comforting weight of his body draped over Hongbin’s back, keeping him warm, Hongbin had lost and regained consciousness, just to let out little moans and whimpers of pleasure. And all the while, Wonshik never stopped slowly rocking into him, lazily pressing kisses across his shoulders and murmuring so softly, Hongbin couldn’t make out the words. It could have been in another language, maybe it was, the sound as sweet and nonsensical as music.

Hongbin took note of the pressure on his cock, trapped beneath him, as he once again grew hard, pressed against the mattress. He hadn’t come, he hadn’t needed to, with the slow pace, but it seemed as though Wonshik was finally needing more, pressing against him harder, pushing in deeper. The renewed stretch felt good.

“Are you with me?” Wonshik whispered, his voice a low rumble in Hongbin’s ear. It made him shiver.

Hongbin hummed and lifted his hips just a bit in response, granting his own aching cock some relief from the friction, while simultaneously giving Wonshik more leverage.

The other man groaned at the new sensation and lifted Hongbin’s hips up higher, holding them with both hands, until his knees were beneath him, then gave a harder thrust.

Hongbin keened, pushing back desperately as Wonshik drove into him, the desire to come rising, until finally, as the waves finally crashed over him, dragging him under, he heard Wonshik’s choked cry and whimpered as the hot spurts of fluid filled him.

He was dizzy, his entire body cocooned in bliss, and it took several moments of panting into the damp pillowcase before he realized what Wonshik had said.

“Wonshik?” Hongbin asked, turning his head, trying to see his lover’s face. It was a fruitless effort, as his body was completely squished beneath the other man, somehow still inside him.

Wonshik moved slowly and they both gave a sigh in unison as he gently withdrew, gathering Hongbin into his arms.

“Wonshik?” he asked again, lifting his chin to finally meet his eyes. Wonshik caressed his face, his gaze sleepy and affectionate. “Did you say…what I thought you said?”

“I said, I love you, Hongbin,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation.

Hongbin closed his eyes as Wonshik began to place gentle kisses over his cheekbones, his eyes, the tip of his nose, and down to his lips. He hummed into the kiss until Wonshik let his lips trail away, down over his jaw.

“I love you, too,” he whispered.

A strange sort of flutter ran through his whole body, lighting up at Wonshik’s answering smile. It had been a long time since he’d said those words to a lover. Occasionally they were coaxed out of him by his mother, and by Hakyeon, who was clingier than any girlfriend, but he always had choked it out rather reluctantly. He _did_ love them, of course. Dearly. But for some reason, it was much easier to just feel that affection rather than to speak it aloud.

What felt like a lifetime ago, he’d told Kyung Hee that he loved her, but had he? And he’d thought, at one point, that he might have been able to fall in love with Ken. Maybe he had loved him. He knew it still brought a pang to his chest when he saw Ken smile, and he’d gotten butterflies when he walked on stage, his new light brown hair catching the light. He couldn’t bear to think of it; it still hurt too much. He didn’t know if that meant love, but if it did, he wasn’t sure the price was one he wanted to pay.

However, in the dim light of Wonshik’s bedroom, wrapped tightly in his arms, he knew that he meant it. He meant it to Wonshik. That was more than enough.

Their mouths moved slickly together and Hongbin did his best to turn off his brain, sinking into the feeling of being cared for, of being _loved_. It felt…good.

“Don’t leave me, okay?” Hongbin whispered, feeling far too vulnerable, as Wonshik’s warm, small mouth trailed down to his shoulder. His lover looked back up and the warmth in his eyes left Hongbin breathless.

“Okay.”

\---

They’d been watching Netflix for hours, and it was nearing two when Hakyeon came to his senses, realizing that Taekwoon was still plastered to his side. Hongbin would be coming over soon.

“Don’t you need to leave soon?”

Taekwoon looked up like a startled cat. “No?”

Hakyeon raised an eyebrow. Taekwoon gave off the impression that the question came completely out of the blue, as though he hadn’t been gone every single day this week.

“You mean you’re not going out?” he clarified.

Taekwoon smiled. “Not today. I want to spend the whole day with you.”

“You know Hongbin was planning to come over, though, right?” Taekwoon nodded.

“Is that not okay? Do you want me to go?”

Hakyeon felt a little jolt of panic, as wounded as Taekwoon looked. It had been a week since they’d spent any significant amount of time together, and if Taekwoon wasn’t going anywhere, chances were that Wonshik was going to be tailing Hongbin as well.

“No, of course not. I want you to stay,” Hakyeon insisted, and Taekwoon immediately calmed. “Let me just go text Bean and let him know.”

“I’ll make some coffee,” Taekwoon smiled brightly.

Hakyeon wandered back into the bedroom. He changed his clothes, not into anything spectacular, but at least a pair of comfortable pants that he hadn’t slept in at any point this week. He’d thought he left his cell phone on the nightstand, but it wasn’t there. Just as he was about to look under the bed, there was a knock at the door.

“They’re here,” called Taekwoon.

 _They_. He must know that Wonshik was there as well. Hakyeon figured as much. He guessed there was no point in searching for his phone, then.

He dashed to the door, seeing that Taekwoon was carefully pouring milk from the carton into a more decorative serving jug, and sure enough, a strangely subdued Hongbin was at the door, a smiling Wonshik in tow.

“Is it alright if I tag along for your party?” Wonshik asked.

“Of course. Come in. Taekwoon was just making coffee.”

“Oh, goodie,” Wonshik snarked from behind Hongbin’s back.

Hakyeon had to hide his laugh. He knew through Taekwoon that Wonshik _really_ didn’t like to eat or drink. He had his suspicions why, based upon his own boyfriend’s reactions, but he’d never ask Wonshik such a personal question.

As Wonshik wandered over to the kitchen to investigate Taekwoon’s culinary prowess (he now appeared to be making toast?), Hongbin asked, “Hey, Hakyeon? Do you still have my bracelet?”

Hongbin gave Hakyeon a pointed look and gestured to the bedroom. What was he…? Oh. OH.

“Uhh, I’m not sure,” Hakyeon replied, trying to read Hongbin’s mind. “If I do, it’ll be in my room?”

He headed over to the bedroom and Hongbin trailed behind him. The moment they were inside, Hongbin leaned into his shoulder and breathed into his ear, “Did you call Ken?”

Hakyeon gave him a blank look.

“My text! Did you get my text?” he hissed. Hakyeon shook his head.

“Shit,” he muttered, scrabbling for his own cell phone.

“Why wouldn’t you want Ken to—”

“Hey, Taekwoon wanted me to ask you…. What on earth are you guys doing?” Wonshik asked, a strange expression on his face, peeking through the door. The two of them had been pressed close together, hovering over Hongbin’s phone and whispering frantically. Startled by Wonshik’s appearance, Hongbin fumbled the phone like a hot potato, dropping it on the floor.

They couldn’t have possibly looked more suspicious if they’d tried. They both attempted to scramble for the cell phone, knocking their heads together in the process. Then Hongbin, who had managed to get his fingers around it first, stuffed it awkwardly in his pocket, the screen still lit. 

Wonshik watched with an air of bemusement as Hongbin’s hand hovered protectively over his pocket, and Hakyeon cringed, rubbing his head where he’d bashed it against Hongbin’s rock-hard skull.

“Why are you acting so weird?”

“We’re not acting weird,” they blurted in unison.

Wonshik raised an eyebrow. They blinked back innocently. Damn, they spent too much frigging time together.

Hakyeon wanted to smack Hongbin for being so stupid. Instead, as Wonshik turned to go back out to the kitchen, seemingly having forgotten his reason for coming in in the first place, Hakyeon jabbed him sharply in the bony part of his hip with his finger. Hongbin stepped on his foot in retaliation as they tripped out to the living room.

Hakyeon watched Hongbin out of the corner of his eye as he slumped into the corner of the couch, his back to the kitchen, trying to keep his cell phone out of view.

“Hey, Taekwoon, have you seen my cell phone?” Hakyeon asked.

Both angels looked at him. He hoped it would distract them from Hongbin and whatever he was texting to Ken. To be honest, in his disbelief that Taekwoon was actually planning on sticking around for the day, Hakyeon had forgotten that Ken was planning to come over at all.

“No, the last time I saw it was when Hongbin texted you this morning,” Taekwoon replied, licking jam off a knife. Wonshik looked revolted by the act. He shook his head.

“Want me to call it?”

“Would you?” Hakyeon asked.

Wonshik nodded, and dutifully started to punch commands into his phone. A moment later, music began to play in the bedroom.

He scuttled off to find it, following the sound to beneath the bed, where Ink must have knocked it down. Thankfully, the screen wasn’t broken.

He had just emerged, holding it triumphantly in-hand, when there was a knock at the door.

Hongbin had turned stark white, leaping to his feet at the sound, his phone still held in a claw-like grip. Alternately, both angels had gone stock-still, twin gazes pointed at the door. Taekwoon was still holding his knife in mid-air, Wonshik, a glass. A pin could have been heard dropping in the silence that followed.

“I-I’ll get it,” Hakyeon said, breaking the quiet, not knowing what else to do.

“Let me,” Hongbin said flatly.

His footsteps seemed to echo as he moved toward the door. It creaked slightly as it opened, the loud whine and awkward shuffling of feet in the hall sounding loud in comparison to the stillness inside.

“Ouch!” Ken whinged, juggling a stack of boxes. Hongbin took a step forward to keep them from falling, and the other man happily shoved them into his arms. “Oh, thank heaven and all the saints, I thought my arms were going to fall off.”

Hongbin stumbled back, dropping them to the floor with a thud, and revealing a smiling, flushed, snow-covered Ken to the room.

Wonshik dropped the glass he was holding, which seemed to fall in slow motion towards the hardwood floor. His jaw had dropped, face frozen in shock as he locked eyes on the figure standing in the doorway, grinning with one hand on Hongbin’s shoulder, until he heard the sound of the shattering glass.

Taekwoon flinched as though someone had struck him at the sound, and the moment Ken’s gaze rose from the mess on the floor up to Wonshik’s face, all the color drained from his cheeks, and his upper teeth sank so hard into his lower lip, golden blood began to pool in the indentation they had made.

Wonshik took a step forward.

Jaehwan slumped to the ground, lifeless.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the clip in which Wonshik experiences Hongbin & Jaehwan's first time, you may want to read this first, as Wonshik references this moment and it might not make sense without it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633765
> 
> I'll need to edit the fic to integrate it into the main story at some point. :/

In the split second before Jaehwan hit the floor, Hongbin had managed to cradle his neck before his head made impact with the ground. It was a move so sudden and smooth, it could be nothing but the celestial energy saturating his body. In a panic, he cried out, “Help me!”

Before Taekwoon could even think to move, Wonshik had blinked over to Hongbin’s side.

“I’ve got him,” Wonshik whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Do you really think you should?” Taekwoon stammered, but Wonshik’s arms were already around Jaehwan. Though they were similar in size, the higher power looked small, as Wonshik cradled him to his chest, carrying him to the sofa. Once he had laid Jaehwan down on the cushions, Wonshik knelt, smoothing the light brown locks back from his forehead and staring at him as though he’d never seen anything so priceless.

Hakyeon shuffled over and pressed to Taekwoon’s side, hiding his face behind his hand as he whispered loudly, “What’s happening?”

“Jaehwan is…was…Wonshik’s….” he paused, looking for the right word. “Ex-boyfriend, I guess. He…ah….left him for another man.”

Wonshik’s head snapped up. “Taekwoon, please do not talk about me as though I am not here. And don’t share my life.”

“I’m sorry,” Taekwoon said, shutting up instantly. He could feel his cheeks flaming at the reprimand.

“Jaehwan, dearest. Beloved, wake up. Look at me,” Wonshik coaxed, his hands never ceasing their anxious stroking of the man’s face and hair, re-memorizing the shape and feel of blood and bone beneath his fingers.

After several moments of silence, Jaehwan’s eyes fluttered open and he reached up to Wonshik’s face. His expression was one of disbelief, of wonder. Wonshik shuddered violently at his touch and the both let out a sigh of pleasure and stared into each other’s eyes instinctually, deeply, as though they were looking into the face of their savior. The desperation and intimacy of their gaze forced Taekwoon to look away, his eyes stinging.

“Jaehwan,” Wonshik said, tears streaming down his cheeks into the cradle of Jaehwan’s fingers. “Oh, my dear Jaehwan.”

“Wonshik? Oh, dearest, I had the most terrible dream. I thought I…” his voice broke off as Wonshik pressed a reckless kiss into his palm. His tongue darted out, tasting the beads of golden blood, still shimmering on his lip. He began to take in the features of the room, reality settling back onto him. His eyes met Taekwoon’s for a split second, and Taekwoon could see it, creeping over Jaehwan like a heavy weight. He was drowning. The horror was spreading over his features, as clear as day.

Wonshik hadn’t noticed, as he was openly weeping into Jaehwan’s palms, pressing them harder into his face with his own hands.

“Jaehwan, I thought you were dead. I hoped and prayed all this time that you’d come back, but you didn’t, and I couldn’t feel you, and I thought you were dead.” He was babbling in a way Taekwoon had never heard before, his sentence ending on a sob. “You were there, and then you were gone. You were just _gone_ , and I thought…I couldn’t go on—"

Taekwoon had seen Wonshik broken and battered. He’d seen him in depression and despair, in anger and violence, in sweetness and tenderness. But he’d never seen such a dark, terrible hope.

Dark, because in a stark contrast to Wonshik’s hope, Taekwoon could see Jaehwan’s face, could hear the way his breath caught, could see the agony in his eyes, the fear, like a wounded animal. Terrible, because it wouldn’t, couldn’t, last. Terrible, because Hongbin was immobile in the doorway, watching every tear, every caress, as though it were knifing him in the chest.

“Ken is Jaehwan. Wonshik…your Jaehwan,” Hongbin said, barely more than a whisper.

Both turned in unison to look at Hongbin, obviously having forgotten he was even there. They couldn’t have looked more like lovers, their faces frozen in identical expressions of shock, their bodies curved into one another like corresponding puzzle pieces.

Hongbin’s face crumpled as the implications sank in.

Both reached out for him in an identical movement of one hand, and then they turned to look at each other again with matching expressions of horror.

At this, Hongbin let out a wail into his cupped hands that devolved into helpless sobbing, and at the sound, Jaehwan bolted upright, heaving Wonshik away with such desperation that the angel was thrown into the coffee table, the spindly wooden legs shattering beneath his weight. Jaehwan leapt to his feet, stumbling over his own shoes in his haste to flee.

Without another word, The Power ripped back the veil, disappearing through it faster than one could blink, ignoring Wonshik’s pleas for him to stop, wait, come back.

Wonshik took a step toward the tear in space, then turned to meet Taekwoon’s eyes, betrayal and rage marring his handsome features. Taekwoon would never forget that look as long as he lived.

Then Wonshik looked at Hongbin, crouched down on the floor, where Hakyeon had wrapped around him from behind, as though holding him together. Stark white and trembling down to his bones, his human’s face was tear-streaked and bloodless, and he raised one tremulous hand toward him.

“Please. Don’t leave me,” Hongbin begged, a hoarse whisper. “Wonshik.”

“I’…I’m sorry. I have to—,” Wonshik said, before throwing himself through the veil behind Jaehwan. It closed behind him, making the air shimmer.

“Wonshik! No! Shit,” Taekwoon exclaimed, darting forward, too late.

Hongbin fell back onto his bottom; his knees had given away. Hakyeon was murmuring to him, smoothing back his hair, but he gazed blankly into the space where Wonshik and Jaehwan had disappeared, to stunned to even continue to sob.

“He’s gone. He really left.”

Taekwoon and Hakyeon met each other’s eyes. There was nothing that was going to fix this, now. Hongbin looked up blankly, his eyes swimming.

“What don’t I know?” he asked weakly, slowly getting to his feet. Hakyeon stepped back, giving him space.

Taekwoon recoiled, his hands fluttered up unconsciously, one toward Hongbin as though he were about to be attacked again and needed to maintain distance, the other protecting his face from another strike.

“He…uhh—” he hedged, not knowing what to say.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?!” Hongbin bellowed. Now Taekwoon knew he was in danger and retreated behind Hakyeon, still shielding his cheek.

“And you!” Hongbin continued, advancing on Hakyeon. “You don’t look the slightest bit surprised by them disappearing into thin air, so you’ve obviously been in on this, too. Tell me what the fuck is going on, _right now_.”

“Okay, Bin. Okay. Just sit down and we’ll talk.”

It took several minutes for Hakyeon to coax Hongbin into finally actually taking a seat on the couch and they sat staring at the shattered remains of the table for several more, before Hakyeon began to speak. Taekwoon stayed in the kitchen where it was safer. He wished he could disappear as well, or beat his head against the wall, at the very least. Even better would be to bleach his memories somehow so that the look on Wonshik’s face could never flash through his thoughts again.

He knew this would happen. He knew Wonshik was bound to find out, but how could he have told him? How, when he knew this was all going to turn out this way?

“Have you ever seen anything, or felt anything, with Wonshik?” Hakyeon was asking. “Something you couldn’t explain?”

Hongbin stared blankly down at the floor, refusing to make eye contact, but his forehead had creased. Hakyeon was watching him carefully, and knew he’d hit upon something, some memory.

“Wonshik…isn’t human,” Hakyeon whispered. “Neither is Ken, I mean, Jaehwan. Or Taekwoon. They are angels.”

Hongbin laughed out loud, a humorless sound. “What are you even talking about?”

“Angels,” Hakyeon said firmly, refusing to budge when Hongbin finally looked up into his face, looking for the sign that his friend was fucking with him. He absolutely wasn’t.

“That’s—”

“Stupid? Crazy? Impossible? Yes. Which is why I didn’t tell you. You wouldn’t have believed me, and Wonshik would have been pissed off at me. Don’t look at me like that, you know you wouldn’t have believed me! And I didn’t want to deal with any of that, since you were already worried about me and Wonshik said he was going to tell you himself when he was sure you would want to stay with him.”

“Stay with _him_? _He_ just left _me_. He—”

“Yes, I know, but he…does what he feels he has to do. I know, I sound insane, but he loves you, Hongbin. I swear it.”

“I thought he did,” he replied bitterly. “Angels, though. What a load of—”

Hakyeon knew his friend too well. Hongbin wasn’t going to believe anything without proof, obviously, and whipped around to turn his irritated gaze on Taekwoon, who took another step back. He had no one to hide behind this time. He almost wanted to go find Ink, to use him as a shield. No one would hit an innocent kitty.

“Taekwoon, show him.” Taekwoon floundered.

“I really don’t know if I should s—”

“ _Show him_ ,” Hakyeon demanded.

Taekwoon swallowed hard, then opened his wings.

They filled the entire kitchen, and Hongbin let out a choked sound, scrambling to the other side of the couch, as far from Taekwoon as he could possibly get.

“Y-you have…”

“Wings, Hongbin,” Hakyeon snapped. “Because he’s a goddamn bloody angel.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say it like that,” Taekwoon muttered.

“Zip it!”

“Zipped,” he said, turning away to look longingly at his long-forgotten toast and jam. It would probably still be okay cold.

“But they’re real!”

“Yes, they’re real.” Hakyeon hesitated just a moment, then added, “And no, you may not touch them. They’re sensitive.”

“I don’t want to touch them. They’re scary.”

“They’re soft and wonderful, but they’re _mine_ ,” Hakyeon said stubbornly.

Taekwoon raised an eyebrow. “Technically—”

“They’re mine,” Hakyeon overrode.

Taekwoon, one hundred and ten percent done with the conversation, folded his ‘soft and wonderful’ wings neatly behind his back, grabbed his toast and lukewarm coffee, and parked himself at the counter, stuffing half a slice into his mouth. He didn’t put them away, figuring Hongbin needed the continued visual aid, and chewed sullenly. It felt unpleasant having his primaries curled uncomfortably against the floor.

“Anyway,” Hakyeon said flatly, “Ask me questions now.”

Hongbin, surprisingly, didn’t have many questions. Not as many as Hakyeon had when he found out. Hongbin seemed far less concerned about their existence as a whole, and far more about how thoroughly he’d been deceived. After a while, though, he abruptly stopped, and giving Taekwoon one last incredulous glance, escaped to the bathroom. The click of the lock was loud in the silence he’d left behind.

Hakyeon came back over and leaned against Taekwoon, who tilted his head sideways, resting it against Hakyeon’s side. The human slid an arm around his shoulders.

“Is Hongbin going to be okay?”

“He will be,” Hakyeon sighed. “But he’s really not okay right now. He needs Wonshik to tell him all of this. Do you know where he went?”

“He could literally be anywhere because Jaehwan could be anywhere. Now that Wonshik knows Jaehwan is alive, he’ll follow him to the ends of the earth.”

A soft sob echoed followed Taekwoon’s statement. Taekwoon hoped that Hongbin hadn’t heard him, but Hakyeon glared at him as though it were his fault anyway. Taekwoon sulked. Why did humans place such an emphasis on truth when they didn’t really want to hear it, he wondered? It seemed entirely counterproductive.

“Is that your subtle way of asking me to try to find him?” Taekwoon asked, nibbling at the last of the soft, jammy, part of the bread and discarding the crust on the plate.

“Will you try?” Hakyeon asked. He didn’t look angry anymore, and his voice lowered. “Just tell him he needs to talk to Hongbin. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair of either of them to lie to him.”

And Hakyeon was back on the lying thing again. Taekwoon absolutely agreed that it wasn’t fair of them to leave Hongbin ignorant, though he still didn’t agree that withholding information was actually a lie.

He couldn’t help but wonder what the fallout would be when Hakyeon learned what he’d had to hide.

\---

Wonshik braced himself against the cold stone ledge of Point Neuf. Rough beneath his fingers, crusted with ice, he may not have felt the cold, but instead, shook with nerves. He stared down into the choppy waters below, where his cell phone had just disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Because they’d never been intimate (and never desired to), their bond was weak enough that Wonshik was able to avoid Taekwoon, calling into the void, searching through the Beyond, seeking Wonshik’s Dream. But technology couldn’t be avoided. He had eighty-nine missed calls from Taekwoon. He had three hundred forty-seven unread text messages. All of them from Taekwoon. There was nothing from Hongbin, the only call he would have taken, and the only call he couldn’t make.

The problem with moving in and out of the Beyond was losing track of time. The asymmetry of spacetime meant moving between dimensional spaces means he could spend what felt like many days’ time in the course of an hour, or only an hour’s time in what felt like days. He was usually careful to stay in what he considered the ‘now’, but it was easy to lose one’s way, especially if focus was lost, and right now, his focus was only on one thing: Jaehwan.

Wonshik had no idea how long he’d been searching, how much time had passed in Seoul. Days and nights began to blur together as he revisited every place they’d lived, loved, fought, made up. Any place that had significance for them.

Because it was Jaehwan. It was Jaehwan the whole time.

The energy he’d longed to consume, coursing through his precious Hongbin’s veins like fire, had been Jaehwan’s. The sweetness, the comfort, the way he’d craved it down to the depth of his being, was because of how defenseless he was for Jaehwan. It made him ache, not only to feel weak, to feel powerless to his former lover, but now, it had made him question – did he love Hongbin, truly? Or had he simply been drawn to that little bit of Jaehwan he’d been chasing for nearly a century?

No, it couldn’t be. He’d been drawn to Hongbin from the day they met. He’d been so moved by his courage and loyalty, captivated by his incomparable beauty, he’d had no choice but to fall. The fact that he and Jaehwan had – oh, God, they’d….

It felt like he’d been struck. The thought of _his_ Hongbin wrapped in the arms of some faceless, unknown celestial had been bad enough, but to realize those arms had been _Jaehwan’s_ …

The memory was still so clear, lying alone in his tree, feeling the bond between himself and Hongbin growing stronger, experiencing the pleasure that wasn’t his own coursing through his body. It all made sense now. Because he had touched Hongbin, he had bonded with Hongbin, and his bond with Jaehwan was already so strong, that when the two of them bonded, it strengthened his own bond as well.

He hated him for it: for touching what was his.

The thought had Wonshik shaking with nerves and rage and an overpowering desire to destroy everything in sight. He _could_ destroy it. He could raze the city of Paris to the ground.

He was always so careful, so controlled. He always held back for the sake of others, and so many years of being flooded with Jaehwan’s power had given him an extraordinary ability to sustain more power than he was capable of generating himself, and to channel the excesses. Sex and pain had always walked hand-in-hand while he was intimate with Jaehwan, yet the energy flowing through his body now had reached an excruciating peak.

His body still wasn’t made for power of that magnitude, wasn’t made for what he’d taken when Jaehwan had woken and touched him for the first time in seventy-four agonizing years, and it wasn’t made for these emotions that roiled inside of him like thunder, feeding off the energy, making him burn. He felt his grasp on the bridge tighten, but then a sickening crack caused him to let go, hands shaking. Ice and stone fell from his palms and he took several gasping breaths.

He shouldn’t have to feel this way. Angels shouldn’t feel this way. Angels weren’t meant to feel hatred. Angels weren’t meant to feel sorrow. Angels weren’t meant to love, at least, not to love anyone or anything but God.

But stupid Wonshik had fallen in love, and then his beautiful, loving, enigmatic Jaehwan had betrayed him. And then he fell in love again, because he was stupid, STUPID, and he’d betrayed Hongbin in much the same way. He and Jaehwan had made a promise to each other, but they’d both broken that promise now.

And now he’d broken his promise to Hongbin as well, his promise to stay.

He loved Hongbin. But Hongbin deserved more than just love. He deserved a life with a man who would adore him, worship him. He wanted Hongbin to live. And not just live, but really _live_. How could he love him and not want that for him?

But Wonshik couldn’t be that man. Not while Jaehwan was still out there, so perfect and lovely and devastatingly cruel, blowing the shattered remains of Wonshik’s heart into the wind, the moment he’d thought he finally had them gathered. Wonshik had to find him. He had to, if he was ever going to be able to let go, to be what Hongbin needed.

If Hongbin still wanted him after all of this.

And yet…

The way Jaehwan had touched his face so tenderly…the way he’d opened his eyes and his heart and let Wonshik in when he woke up from his faint. It had felt just as it had before, their souls so intertwined like the roots of trees that perhaps they’d never have the ability to part, even if they wanted to. Even if Jaehwan no longer loved him. Because he knew he would never stop loving Jaehwan.

He had no choice. He was going to have to go to The Seer, or he would waste all of Hongbin’s mortal life chasing an angel who could disappear like smoke, leaving only anguish behind. He needed to do this, and quickly, before any chance he had was gone.

His heart raced madly, pulsing in his throat, and he felt giddy with fear. Acting quickly, before he could think of the consequences and change his mind, Wonshik threw himself through the veil, exiting directly into the entryway of Sanghyuk’s house. The crash reverberated as the screen door clattered against its casing, and the sound of mingled voices around the dining room table immediately ceased.

“Where is he?” he cried. “Please tell me!”

Then, he froze in his tracks at the spectacular scene before him.

If he’d been in his right mind, he likely would have felt the overwhelming celestial presence emerging from the small home, but as it was, he hadn’t been thinking or feeling anything clearly. He’d somehow barged in on a gathering of Archangels.

Archangels…and Sanghyuk…playing poker.

The table was covered in glowing cards with symbols cast in gold, piles of chips and precious gems, and what appeared to be an untouched bowl of corn nuts. He had apparently tried to be hospitable.

Were the celestials in their true forms, Wonshik would have likely died of terror, but they were nonetheless imposing in human form. Raphael, Gabriel, Lucifer, Saraqael, and Remiel he knew by sight (at a great distance, so far above him were they) and they gazed at him with expressions varying from mild annoyance to curiosity to amusement.

Junhoe, The Seer’s new Watcher, sighed as Sanghyuk stood, and obligingly turned his face toward Wonshik. He, however, took the opportunity to make a gesture behind his back to the collected angels, betraying the cards that were apparently in Sanghyuk’s hand. Saraqael looked especially pleased.

“I told you the last time you were here, Malakhim,” Sanghyuk said coldly.

“You said I already knew,” Wonshik blubbered, “And I don’t know. I’ve looked everywhere. Everywhere we used to go. Everywhere we’d lived. Even that godforsaken river where he left me. I can’t find him. Please!”

“You will not use the name of the Divine in such a manner in my presence, Kim Wonshik.” He sat back down at the table, his back to Wonshik, and with an apologetic bob of his head, Junhoe turned away.

Wonshik, knowing he’d fucked up his one and only chance at help, fell to his knees, his despair overtaking all other thought or reason. How was he supposed to do this alone? He fisted his eyes as though to punish away the tears when a hand brushed gently through his hair. He looked up, eyes swimming with saltwater, and met a pair so brilliant, so blue, they put the sky and sea to shame.

“When he leaves you, where does he go?” The archangel Raphael asked kindly, taking both of his hands to raise him to his feet, then ushering him into the living room and away from the collected stares of the Host.

He knew? An archangel knew what had happened? How did he know?

But, _of course_ , the archangels would be able to read his energy like he’d spoken it aloud. He knew everything the moment Wonshik came in; they all did. Only Raphael had the most compassion. But why would he be willing to touch Wonshik? He could feel the calm energy and gentle smile of the highest angel soothing his soul, and he didn’t hesitate for a moment in caressing Wonshik’s face, his hair, gently giving and taking nothing.

“To Henry. He went to Henry. But I don’t know his last name. I’ve looked in every cemetery in Paris. If he was buried in the United States, how can I search an entire country? Please.”

“To earn the love of a Power, you must be an extraordinary angel indeed,” Raphael said thoughtfully, continuing to stroke Wonshik gently. “I know Jaehwan, Wonshik, and his lover is not dead. If he were dead, Jaehwan would have returned to you.”

“What? But it’s been…”

“Seventy-four years,” Raphael said. “Yes. Are you familiar with the human life span in these times?” Wonshik shook his head in disbelief.

“How can he still be alive?”

Sanghyuk stood, knocking over his chair, and glared at him from across the room with overt disgust. “Wonshik, I love you. You’re a dear, sweet child, but if you come bursting into my home again, making demands, asking stupid questions, and interrupting Game Night, you’re not going to like the results. Now get out.”

“I’m…I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sanghyuk.”

Raphael was forced to take a step back, because with a gesture like the swinging of a sword, Sanghyuk parted the veil and Wonshik awkwardly fell back through it. He may as well have been thrown, with the way he skidded across a gravel lot and into a field, on the other side. He’d heard, passing through, the way Sanghyuk had praised Raphael for his kindness, but assured him that Wonshik needed to fight his own battles. Or, at least that’s what he thought he heard, because all he could hear now were the clatters of traffic, the buzzing of electricity lines, and the general sounds of wildlife in the fields and domestic life in the buildings nearby.

Spitting grass and soil out of his mouth from his awkward landing, he grimaced, looking at the unattractive rips and grass stains littering his jeans. His hoodie, likewise, was damaged. Standing up and wiping his hands off on his ruined clothes, he looked around. He appeared to be in what looked like a Midwest American town. It was quaint, pretty, but more importantly, he could feel Jaehwan. He knew Jaehwan would feel him, too. He hoped he wouldn’t run.

He hoped he would.

The structures in front of him had a neat, hand-painted sign out front, stating he had arrived at Roselawn Retirement Community. It was a collection of carefully-tended buildings with white siding and dark gray rooftops, surrounded by trees. It would probably be very nice in the spring and summer. In the December cold, all of the greenery had died. Unlit Christmas lights studded the edges and peaks of the roofs, waiting for sunset.  

He followed the internal draw towards Jaehwan, into the second building. He signed the guest book neatly in English and made his way down the hall. He allowed his clothing to merge into something more suitable and he ran his hand through his hair, hoping he was at least presentable. His feet felt like they’d been encased in concrete as he walked.

When he arrived at the unit with a nameplate reading Henry Thomason, the door was open and there seemed no need to knock. Wonshik entered the room silently.

Jaehwan was smiling gently down at an old man, who lay in a bed with railings and a pile of colorful afghans, his expression one of indescribable tenderness. It was true. Henry was still alive. The love in Jaehwan’s eyes made Wonshik’s heart ache, as the other angel did his best to ignore Wonshik’s presence.

But he hadn’t run away this time, even though he knew Wonshik was coming. That had to mean something. He _wanted_ him to see.

The old man rasped, “And so I told Margaret that we were going to the lakeshore, but I didn’t tell her about the dunes. Oh, she was so angry. We hiked all the way up, sloshing through the sand until our knees were sore and our shoes were full of the grit, and just as we reached the peak, she lost her straw hat. The wind caught it, you see, the moment we came over the dune. It flew right off down the beach and into the lake!”

Jaehwan laughed. “Such a shame, and it was her favorite, too. The one with the white ribbon?”

“That’s the one. You remember!” The old man grinned, showing off a startling absence of teeth.

“I remember everything,” Jaehwan replied.

At that, the human finally noticed Wonshik, out of the corner of his eye and raised a hand in greeting. His fingertips were blue from poor circulation. “Why, how do you do, sir?” He gave him a gummy smile. “I seem to think we’ve met, though I cannot recall your name. So sorry about that.”

Jaehwan was very careful not to react. He didn’t display any emotion in front of his dear Henry, but Wonshik, who knew him well, could see the way the muscle in his jaw tensed, the way his finger twitched, almost imperceptibly. He was taut as a bowstring, ready to protect the old man with his life; to protect him from Wonshik. Even now, lined and ruined, barely able to speak, Jaehwan would still choose this human over him. It was something of a revelation.

Jaehwan caressed the human’s wrinkled, fragile fingers, his jaw still clenched though giving off the impression of casual conversation. “You remember Wonshik, don’t you, Henry? You gave him a black eye once, after all.”

The corner of Jaehwan’s mouth almost imperceivably twitched. He was obviously terribly amused at bringing up the humiliating memory and Wonshik found himself, surprisingly, wanting to laugh. It was a completely Jaehwan thing to do. Yes, the young human had punched him in the face, and yes, it had left a mark, for at least a few minutes, but it faded quickly, like every other hurt on the body of a celestial. Only the emotional scars remained.

The old man gasped. “You’re right. Why, Wonshik Kim, is it really you? After all these years? Well, my gosh, you’re still a looker, aren’t you? Have you come to return the favor at last? It wasn’t a fair fight the last time – You wouldn’t hit me back.”

The corners of Wonshik’s mouth lifted, in spite of himself.

“Would it be fair this time?”

“Oh, perhaps not,” Henry conceded. “I couldn’t box with a butterfly anymore. Besides, even with a shiner, you’d still be more handsome than me.”

“Yet, I never could beat you in the only fight that mattered.”

The old man never turned his gaze away, but his smile turned sad. He knew. Of course, he knew.

At this, Jaehwan had the decency to look ashamed, at least. But at his words, sensing that Wonshik was not going to attack either of them, at least at the moment, he turned his face to look out the window.

It had started to snow. It was pretty. Jaehwan was prettier.

“I’m glad you came, Wonshik. Jae and I had just been talking about some things that may in—”

“I really don’t think he’d be interested,” Jaehwan interrupted.

“Jae,” Henry chastised, his head cocked to the side in disapproval. They exchanged a look that Wonshik didn’t like. As though they were reading each other’s thoughts. The way Jaehwan used to look at him, when they were reading each other’s minds. As odd as the pairing looked, regardless, they looked like lovers.

Jaehwan looked away first and cleared his throat. Henry continued to look at him expectantly.

“Henry, would you mind excusing us for a moment?” The old man looked pleased at his request.

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

Jaehwan’s expression was unreadable. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you will.”

Jaehwan stood, and, not waiting for Wonshik, strode from the room and into the hall. Wonshik followed, as he always had, the way Jaehwan knew he would, and they both turned to the right.

There was a small alcove there for conversation, with comfortable-looking armchairs situated around a small table. Attractive. Generic. Just like the rest of the décor.

Jaehwan sat first, uncomfortably, perched on the edge of the chair as though he were once again preparing make a sudden escape. Wonshik sat opposite, and after three quarters of a century, begging God for one last chance to see Jaehwan again, to tell him he loved him one last time, he found himself completely speechless.

Jaehwan picked at the decorative piping on the edge of the upholstery.

“You’re alive,” Wonshik finally blurted.

“I am.”

“But, how?”

Stupid! Stupid Wonshik. Of all the stupid things he could have possibly said.

“I can’t die,” Jaehwan said, flatly.

At first Wonshik’s urge was to get angry. It sounded unnecessarily sarcastic, given the circumstances, but looking at Jaehwan’s face, pale and drawn, Wonshik began to suspect that he was being more honest than he’d originally expected.

“Angels can die,” Wonshik said carefully. “Angels can fall.”

“Powers cannot,” he replied.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I tried.” This was definitely not how this conversation was supposed to go.

“Why…would you do that?” Wonshik asked, his voice breaking with emotion. Jaehwan finally looked up, meeting his eyes.

“I’d think that should be exceedingly obvious.”

Because of course it was. Henry was dying. Jaehwan didn’t love Wonshik anymore, and the man that he _did_ love was nearing the end of his existence. Jaehwan wouldn’t have thought to keep living, even for Wonshik. It hurt more than he thought he could possibly bear.

The tightness in his chest was growing, but if this could possibly be the only opportunity he would have to get answers, he was going to have to ask the right questions.

“Jaehwan, how much does he know?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve obviously been around, and you could have given him any story, but he was not the slightest bit surprised that I had not aged, either. How much does he know?”

“That depends on the day.”

“Jaehwan,” Wonshik growled.

“I mean it. I told him the truth a long time ago, but he’s 94 years old now, Wonshik. On the good days, he remembers everything. He’s as sharp as he ever was. But then, some days he doesn’t recognize me at all. Some days he thinks it’s still 1944 and he’s still 20 years old and we’re still lovers and he can’t understand why his legs won’t work and he can’t get out of bed. Some days he doesn’t know where he lives or who the nurses are or how he got there. Some days he does nothing but talk about Margaret and it breaks me.”

“Who’s Margaret?”

Jaehwan’s face sank into lines of bitterness. “His wife.”

“But, you two?” Jaehwan stood, his hands balled into fists.

“Why the fuck are you here, Wonshik? Are you just looking to see me suffer? Because I am. I do. I’m in hell, Wonshik. I sit here day after day after day watching the man I loved for a lifetime decay, watching his body break apart, and his memories dwindle, watching him _forget me_. And I can’t just stop coming, because any day could be his last!”

“I…could help.”

“ _Help_ what?” Jaehwan asked, eyes narrowing.

Wonshik knew he was walking a very fine line right now. His body had become racked with shivers, knowing sooner than his exhausted mind did, how close he had gotten to pushing Jaehwan the wrong way, to taking him over the edge.

“Help…alleviate the suffering?”

“Alleviate,” Jaehwan said, expression lethal. “You mean _remove_ the source of the suffering.”

“I—”

Fuck. Wonshik had known before the words had finished leaving his lips that it was the wrong answer. Jaehwan didn’t want to be released from his torment. He wanted Henry to _live_.

“You want to…you want to…kill—”

“No! I—”

Jaehwan’s body seemed to be frozen, even while his hands began to violently shake, vibrating with the effort to not utterly destroy Wonshik. Wonshik could see it in his face. The Malakhim stood, his instincts telling him to flee, and he took a step back.

“Get out,” Jaehwan said, voice strained and ice cold.

“Jaehwan, I…”

“I said, _get out_!” There was a burst of energy such as Wonshik had never felt, as The Power’s eyes glowed bright white, and the very fabric of reality exploded around him. His wings burst from his back, white and translucent and made of light, and his face was too beautiful and terrible to even be looked upon.

At once, every wall socket sparked with electricity, every pane and piece of glass in the building was reduced to shards, and every light went out with one almighty burst. Screams raised from every corner of the building and after just a brief pause, all of the fire alarms began to go off, wailing shrilly over the sounds of human panic.

And Jaehwan shone with all the glory of heaven, magnificent and terrifying, with light blaring from his eyes and radiating from beneath his skin, which was translucent and made of innumerable colors like a prism in the sun. The immediate pain from the assault on every one of his senses made Wonshik shield his eyes with both hands and he trembled down to his bones. The Malakhim dropped to his knees in submission.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, Power, I was wrong,” he whispered, quaking in fear and awe.

There was an odd energy pulse, like lights flickering in a storm, and with a gasp, Jaehwan convulsed heavily, taking on his human form once more.

“I swore I’d never do that again,” he said bitterly, seemingly to himself, as he turned from Wonshik. His voice was devastatingly calm, though he breathed deeply, struggling for control. “I want you to leave. Now. Or I swear upon all that is holy, I will end you tonight.”

Knowing he was fleeing for his life, Wonshik pulled back the veil immediately, exiting Beyond. As the air shimmered closed behind him, drowning away the noise and the dark and the smell of fear, he saw a brief glimpse of a nurse sprinting down the hall, and Jaehwan moving, trance-like, to retake his place, standing vigil at Henry’s bedside.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. It's all angst. All of it.

To Hakyeon, time seemed to stand still until night had suddenly fallen without warning. One moment the sun was up – then suddenly it had disappeared beyond the rim of the horizon. He had coaxed a bit of ramen into Hongbin, mostly soup, but the other man just wasn’t interested.

Hakyeon had tried to tell him more about angels, the things he’d learned from Taekwoon and Wonshik, but his eyes were unfocused. He wasn’t paying attention. He moved like a zombie, his actions mostly reflexive and without interest or energy. There was absolutely no question of him going home that night. Absorbed in his own head as he was, he’d probably get lost or wander into traffic.

So it was still early when Hakyeon gently led him to the bedroom and coaxed him out of his hoodie and jeans. Hongbin practically fell into the bed face-first, clad only in his underwear. He was worn out. He looked as though he’d aged ten years over the course of the afternoon, and it was with tenderness that Hakyeon covered him with the soft flannel sheets and, shedding his own layers, slipped in alongside him. Hongbin immediately rolled into his body and wrapped an arm around Hakyeon’s waist.

Any time the two of them were distraught, somehow, they always ended up like this. It was like shelter. Comforting. The warmth of contact, of human skin, without expectation or need. Safe.

Hakyeon wrapped both his arms around him, holding him close.

They lay in silence, as they’d done many times before, but after several long moments of listening to Hongbin’s breathing gentle and slow, Hakyeon realized the difference between now and the many times before. He could feel the energy bond between them.

He must have grown accustomed to the feeling of Taekwoon’s energy moving inside of him, and with his heightened senses, and the web of connections between himself and Taekwoon, between Taekwoon and Wonshik, between Wonshik and Hongbin, and the somewhat more limited connection between Wonshik and himself, he could acutely feel the energy flow between himself and his best friend. It was staticky - warm, sort of fuzzy, like being wrapped in a soft blanket. He wondered vaguely if Hongbin could feel it, too, but he didn’t know how to explain it in words to ask, and he was a little afraid of saying anything that could throw Hongbin back into his fear and misery now that he was finally starting to calm down enough that he might be able to sleep. Hongbin’s hand slid lightly up his back.

Hakyeon tightened his arms a little more, soothed by the caress. He didn’t think anything of it, until the touch reached the back of his neck and gentle fingers were threading into his hair. He felt the shift of Hongbin’s body and opened his eyes questioningly just as Hongbin’s lips met his. Hongbin’s eyes were shut tight.

The kiss was as tender and soft as it was unexpected, and his dearest friend’s lips parted on a sigh. Hakyeon didn’t move. He didn’t pull away, nor did he kiss back. He couldn’t. And just as soon as it had come, it was over, and Hongbin’s eyes re-opened.

“Why did you do that?” Hakyeon asked gently, without accusation. Hongbin’s hand slid out of his hair and back down to where it had rested before, on his back.

“I don’t know.”

Hongbin looked away, beginning to curl in on himself, to pull himself away from Hakyeon’s arms. Hakyeon wasn’t about to let him shut down, though. He wouldn’t let Hongbin feel ashamed. So he didn’t let go, taking Hongbin’s face in his hand and carefully turning it back to his.

“Why, Hongbin?”

“I don’t know. I’m so confused.” His eyes were filling with tears. Hakyeon felt his heart twist.

“Oh, my Bean.” He wrapped his arms more tightly around Hongbin and squeezed. Hongbin took one shuddering breath, then sobbed brokenly into his chest, the tears flowing over their bare skin and soaking the sheets. Neither of them cared.

Hakyeon wanted to sigh. Apparently Hongbin could feel the bond after all.

“I’m just…I’m sad and I’m angry all at the same time. Because he told me he loved me, Hakyeon. He told me just this morning, and then he left. He looked me straight in the eye and just fucking left, because Ke-Jaehwan-whoever the fuck he really is- showed up. And all this time, he knew. Ken knew, and he didn’t tell me. He just played all these fucking guessing games, all hot and cold with me, playing with my heart.”

“I know it’s a lot to—” Hakyeon tried to say, but Hongbin cut him off.

“And then to find out even you’ve been hiding things from me, too. I hate it. I’m so mad at them, and I want to be mad at you, but I can’t because you’re the only one who’s always stayed. You’re the only one I have left,” he choked. “Because they leave. They all leave me. If I don’t push them away first, they’ll leave. First Ji Ho, then Kyung Hee, then Ken, now Wonshik…even my parents. I can’t do this anymore.”

He broke off into another fit of wretched sobbing, and Hakyeon couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t argue any of Hongbin’s points; it would sound like excuses.

Hongbin’s first boyfriend, Ji Ho, had broken up with him after only a few weeks of teenage hand-holding and a single stolen kiss on the abandoned playground. Kyung Hee, his longest relationship, lasting about a year, and only girlfriend, had cheated on him, and eventually left him for the other man. Then Jaehwan and Wonshik were…a hot mess in general, apparently. Hakyeon was going to have to get the full story from Taekwoon, because there was a lot he hadn’t bothered to share. Not that it was really Hakyeon’s business, he supposed, but it certainly was now, if it was hurting his green bean.

He continued stroking Hongbin’s hair as he cried, running the tips of his fingers lightly over the perfect curves of each of his ears, whispering soothing words and pressing kisses against his forehead until he calmed again. It was taking less time now, at least. Though whether that was really calm, or just exhaustion, he could only guess.

The lights from passing cars created dancing shadows on the wall, and at some point, Hongbin rolled over, his sobs diminishing to wet snuffles. He refused Hakyeon’s offer to get him tissues, and simply lay still as Hakyeon spooned him, placing his own hand over Hakyeon’s, splayed across his stomach.

Hakyeon lay still for a long time, just drifting, and it was somewhere in that hazy half-consciousness between waking and sleeping that Hongbin’s voice startled him back into wakefulness.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Hakyeon croaked, his voice breaking from lack of use. He cleared his throat. 

“The last time we lay like this was the day I almost lost you.”

“Lost me?”

“When you almost got hit by the car,” Hongbin mumbled.

Hakyeon remembered.

“That was the day I first saw Taekwoon,” Hakyeon admitted. “Do you remember? I said I saw a man about to jump. He was up on one of the top floors of that office building, on the ledge. But then I blinked and he was gone. He disappeared. I thought he had jumped.”

“I thought that you were losing your mind,” Hongbin sighed. “I almost wish you had been.”

“I love Taekwoon,” Hakyeon said.

“I know. That’s why I said almost. Can we just try to go to sleep now?”

Hakyeon frowned.  How was he supposed to fall asleep with a hole in his heart? He should have told him sooner. Well, Wonshik, or even Jaehwan, should have told him sooner. They’d all fucked up. It was as much his fault as theirs.

“Bin…I meant what I said earlier. Wonshik loves you. He just…Ken, I mean Jaehwan, was unfinished business. He’s going to do what he needs to do, and he’s going to come back. I know he will. He wouldn’t just go.”

“And yet, he did.” Hongbin’s voice was strangely flat, as though there was no emotion left in it. Reaching out, Hakyeon could easily sense this confirmed by his energy, which was as dull and lifeless as though he were not even awake to feel.

“Goodnight, Hakyeon.”

Hakyeon leaned his forehead against Hongbin’s hair and inhaled its familiar scent. There were few worse things he could think of than seeing the most important person in his life so battered and broken, but perhaps, by holding him in his arms, for now, he could hold him together.

“Goodnight, Hongbin.”

\---

When the two awoke, the first thing Hongbin registered through his creeping consciousness, was the warmth of Hakyeon’s body beside him. He moved toward it instinctually, as the air in the room was unpleasantly cold. He wrapped an arm over Hakyeon’s slim waist, and Hakyeon, in turn, placed his hand over Hongbin’s, holding him there.

“It feels like you have a draft,” Hongbin murmured, a little shiver raising gooseflesh over his icy limbs. Hakyeon’s brow furrowed as he glanced around, eyes barely open.

“There shouldn’t be,” he slurred, still sleep-drunk. “Why is it so cold?”

“How should I know? It’s your house,” Hongbin complained.

Hakyeon didn’t seem to find it a big enough mystery to warrant immediate investigation, in any case, as he simply dragged the duvet further up to cover their bare shoulders and retreated into its depths.

It was quiet beneath the blankets. Pleasant. The sounds of humanity on the outside of the apartment walls – the rattle of the recycling collectors, the car engines, the din of pedestrian traffic – was fairly dim, and Hongbin found himself dozing again, drifting.

He was just on the brink of sleep, that floating sensation between sleeping and waking, when he felt his mind drift. He saw something like a dream, and yet not. It felt more like a memory, though the memory was most definitely not his own. It must be a dream.

Ken, or Jaehwan, as Wonshik had called him, was leaning over him, propped on one elbow, his skin pale and luminous in the morning sunlight. His eyes were closed as he pulled back from their kiss. Hongbin knew they had been kissing, somehow. He could feel his desire, tense and hot in his belly, and he whined at the absence of Jaehwan’s mouth. His black hair was tousled, his plush lips red and bruised. He was glowing from beneath the skin with a radiant white light that only enhanced his beauty, and as Hongbin inhaled, he could scent his skin, cool and fresh, like mountain air.

Jaehwan reared back, moving to a seated position on Hongbin’s hips, and Hongbin realized that they hadn’t only been kissing. The pleasure was overwhelming as Jaehwan began to rock his hips, Hongbin buried deep inside of him. Jaehwan moaned, arching his back, the long lines of his body completely on display. Hongbin thrust up, unable to resist. His body was buzzing with energy and he shivered with the all-encompassing feeling of bliss. This was nirvana. This was heaven. This was God’s perfect creation. Jaehwan. Oh, God, Jaehwan.

He whimpered, dizzy, barely able to breathe.

“I love you,” Jaehwan whispered. “Oh, Dearest, I love you.”

Hongbin gasped, lunging again for his lips, dragging Jaehwan down against him. So soft, so perfect, just how he remembered.

“I will never, never, love anyone but you,” Hongbin whispered, in Wonshik’s voice. “My Dearest. My only.”

But he…Wonshik?

Hongbin woke again with a start. He felt woozy and his head was pounding. What had he—a dream? But there had been a sound. He was sure of it. Something loud. And the sounds from outside were louder, too. Unnaturally so. It was like the window was open or something.

He took several gasping breaths of winter-cold air, and swallowed thickly, the saliva in his mouth unnaturally thick and gross-tasting. He’d been mouth-breathing. Dreaming?

He shifted uncomfortably to accommodate his erection. He’d been dreaming of Ken, except Ken didn’t look like the Ken that he knew. His hair was black, and longer than he’d ever seen it. And Hongbin hadn’t been himself, he’d been…fuck. But what had woken him from his disturbing…wonderful…dream?

He looked over at Hakyeon, who had started to stir as well. His eyes were still closed, and he had a pinched look on his face. He, too, was being drawn from his doze unwillingly.

Hongbin’s phone gave a loud ping.

That’s why he didn’t recognize the sound that had woken him. He’d turned the notifications back on, hoping that Wonshik would call. Would text. Would apologize and come back.

But when he fumbled for the device and opened the display, it wasn’t Wonshik. It was his mother.

<< Come home, baby, and let me cook you a nice meal.

He stared in disbelief at the unexpected communication. He hadn’t had any contact with his parents since the evening he’d fought with his father over Wonshik. He’d assumed that their contact had potentially ended for good.

And now, no hello. No asking how he’d been, or if he was sick, or if he had eaten, but an invitation…not even a real invitation, more of a kindly-worded demand. He worried his lip for a moment, debating how to respond.

                >> Will it just be you and me?

Her response came back automatically. He could practically feel the relief in her tone that he’d responded at all.

                << Your father will be there, too, but don’t worry. He’s not angry with you.

Yeah, somehow, he doubted that. He tossed the phone aside; he’d answer later.

Rolling over, he stared at Hakyeon for several long moments, until he opened his eyes with a glare.

“I can feel you looking at me,” Hakyeon grumbled.

“I was counting on that.”

“Why is it still so cold?” Hakyeon continued, forcefully wrapping himself in the blankets like a burrito. It yanked the duvet off of Hongbin’s shoulder. Hongbin scowled, ignoring the obviousness of his words, and grabbed the edge of the blanket, dragging it back out from under Hakyeon’s dead weight and back up to cover himself.

The dream was still lingering. On the outer edges of his imagination, he could still see Ken/Jaehwan’s eyes pressed shut and the dips and arches of his abdominal muscles and the delicate curve of his waist. He shivered.

“Are you okay?” Hakyeon asked. “You look….strange.”

“I’m okay. I guess, I just, I have to ask you something, but it’s probably going to sound completely crazy.”

“Nothing is crazy to me anymore. My boyfriend can turn invisible and fly,” Hakyeon said dryly. “Or, rather, everything is just so crazy, I no longer question it.”

“Touché. Alright. Have you, umm, ever been able to see things that happened to Taekwoon? Like, things that happened when you weren’t there with him?”

“Well, he can show me things. With his thoughts.”

Hongbin swallowed. This was all too much. “Okay, but like, when you’re not with him?”

“Like seeing the future?”

“More like seeing things as they’re happening?”

“No, I don’t think so. Usually we have to be touching each other. Or at least be close by, or really focused on each other’s minds. Did you have some kind of vision?” Hakyeon looked fascinated. Hongbin’s stomach churned.

“I really hope not. I don’t know. It was a dream, but it felt like more than a dream. Like it really happened.”

“Happened or was happening?”

“I don’t know,” Hongbin moaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I feel insane. None of this should be possible, and yet, suddenly I’m told that angels are real and _everything_ is possible, so I’m overthinking and questioning my entire reality.”

Hakyeon petted him soothingly. “You’re going to absolutely hate what I have to say right now…but, if I were you, I would try…not to worry about it.”

Hongbin made a noise of disbelief. Hakyeon continued, “I can tell that it bothered you, and you can tell me about it if you want. It may have happened, but it may have just been a dream. The only way you’ll be able to know for sure is by asking Wonshik, so until you can do that, it’s not really worth the stress.”

Hongbin once again attempted to swallow away the sticky feeling in his mouth.

“You really believe he’s going to come back?”

“I do.”

Well, he certainly sounded convinced. Hongbin sighed, not nearly so sure.

“Look, he has an apartment,” Hakyeon coaxed. “He has two, actually; he’s my landlord. He’s not just going to up and vanish. Not for good. And you heard what he said to Ken. He thought he was dead. So this ghost from the past, someone he’d loved, suddenly shows up alive and well – of course he’s going to want answers. I don’t think he should have just jumped up and left like that, not without explaining things to you, but…I just—”

He reached out for Hongbin’s hands. After a moment of hesitation, Hongbin placed his own in them. Hakyeon smiled.

“I just hadn’t seen you so happy in so long, and I feel like Wonshik does make you happy. I don’t think he should have run out like that. It was foolish. It was brash and stupid and it hurt you. But I think that you should at least give him a chance to explain himself before you make a final decision that you might regret. I shut Taekwoon out once without giving him a chance to explain and it hurt both of us so badly. I’ve always regretted it.”

Hongbin hadn’t heard that story, but it didn’t feel like now was really the time for it, either.

“I’ll…try,” Hongbin finally agreed.

“Good. Now let’s get some breakfast and figure out why it’s so damn cold in here.”

He flipped back the blankets and Hongbin whined at the icy chill that ran over his skin.

He pulled his teeshirt on and grabbed a pair of sweats and socks out of Hakyeon’s dresser drawers. He didn’t bother asking permission.

Hakyeon had done similarly, slithering into clothes and slippers, and he followed his friend out into the living room.

It was even colder outside of the bedroom, and Hongbin’s face had scrunched quizzically at the realization just as Hakyeon made a mad dash for the window.

“Inky, get down from there!” he cried.

Hongbin jumped, looking over to the window, where Ink had been perched _outside_ the fifth-story window, licking at the snow on the ledge. The window was, inexplicably, wide open, and at the sound of his owner’s voice, the cat had startled, claws skittering a bit on the icy sill, before hopping back down onto the living room floor.

Hakyeon slammed the window shut with a dangerous-sounding rattle of glass, and scooped Ink up into his embrace.

“Why was the window open?” Hongbin asked. “Did you open it?”

“Definitely not,” Hakyeon gasped, cradling Ink in his arms. The cat purred, unconcerned with his death-defying balancing act. “What the fuck?”

“Did someone break in?” Hongbin asked, looking around. Nothing seemed to be out of place.

“There’s no fire-escape on the front of the building. They’d have had to scale up the wall like Spiderman,” Hakyeon said, slumping to the ground and burying his face in the cat’s black fur.

“Taekwoon has gone out the window before,” he said, after a few moments of hyperventilation, like an afterthought. “But he’s not here. He went to try to figure out what happened to Wonshik and Jaehwan.”

“Could he have come home?”

“I guess,” Hakyeon said, finally looking up. His eyes were shiny from fear, and Ink was beginning to struggle for escape from his tight grasp. “But if he did, I don’t know why he wouldn’t have woken me up.”

Hongbin didn’t have an answer to that.

They took some time to look around for clues (after Ink had made a mad dash for freedom from Hakyeon’s corporal cuddling) but found nothing. Eventually, after turning up the heating, reheating some leftovers for breakfast, and after bathing and dressing in some of Hakyeon’s baggiest dance clothes, Hongbin exited the apartment, heading back to his home, for what felt like the first time in a long time.

He’d left Hakyeon sending frantic, unanswered texts to his celestial boyfriend, but he wouldn’t be of any use in that particular matter. He knew the feeling. He walked the familiar streets, bypassing the subway, needing the expenditure of energy to keep himself sane, while fondling the phone in his pocket, trying not to will it to ring.

He was nearly to his street when it pinged again.

It’s not Wonshik, he told himself, wishing it all the same. And it wasn’t Wonshik. It was his mom again.

<< Will you come tonight?

He sighed.

                >> What time?

\---

Ten days later, Hongbin sat in a tasteful office, the décor neutral and unoffending, and stared at a woman with a bobbed haircut and a pretty face. She smiled at him gently, waiting for him to speak.

She’d asked him a question. What had she asked?

He must have looked confused, as she tilted her head to the side slightly, and repeated, “It’s been a few weeks since you’ve come to see me.”

Oh, right, she must have only greeted him. His mind was wandering so badly these days, he often didn’t know who or what was real anymore.

The psychologist checked her chart and Hongbin made a noncommittal noise, scuffing the soles of his shoes against the rug. He knew his posture was positively screaming his discomfort and as his therapist jotted down a few words, he was certain that was the reason why.

“So how are things going?” she asked, lightly.

“Not well,” Hongbin sighed. “Probably obvious, right?”

“Not necessarily. But let’s talk about it. Catch me up; what have I missed?”

She’d missed everything. But how was he supposed to tell her that his boyfriend was an ancient, immortal being without being checked forcibly into the psych ward?

“I—” Hongbin stalled. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Alright,” she said soothingly. “Let’s start simple, then. How is your dancing?”

“I quit,” Hongbin sighed.

“Why?”

“It wasn’t making me happy.” Those were the words he’d used to explain to Hakyeon, though he knew it wasn’t really an explanation at all.

“In what way?” she asked. He should have known she wouldn’t fall for it. “Was the act of movement and expression not connecting with you? Was there a problem with the class itself, or the people in it?”

“I wasn’t good enough,” Hongbin said. “I felt behind all the time. I had to go every day and watch Hakyeon be the star pupil while I could barely keep up.”

There. He’d said the words that he couldn’t tell Hakyeon. He hated not being good enough. And God, it felt good once the words finally started to flow. The sentences began to stream out faster; the dam had finally broken.

“He goes on and on about how we need to step out of our comfort zone in order to become better, and I get it. That’s totally true. But it’s always come so easily to him. He barely has to work at it. I have to force every single movement out of my body, and it physically hurts, and it never looks as good as anyone else’s, and I end up feeling foolish and rejected and miserable every time the instructor looks in my direction and all I can see is disappointment. I just hated it. It was making me feel like shit. And I don’t like to feel resentful towards him, he’s my best friend, but I hate that he’s just so much better than me. At everything. I got him to audition for the musical. He didn’t even know about it. He hadn’t prepared anything. I’d prepared for weeks. And yet, he still got the starring role, without any effort at all, and I’m barely a supporting character. It’s just so frustrating!”

“I can see why you’d be feeling frustrated,” she acknowledged. “It’s especially hard when the one we’re comparing ourself to is someone close to us.” Hongbin squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the burn of tears and not wanting to cry. He should have come back to therapy weeks ago. Why had he stopped?

Oh right. Wonshik.

“Was there something else?” she asked. He opened his eyes. He must have made some kind of reaction, and she was always very observant.

“Yes…I haven’t told you…about Wonshik.”

“Is this someone who came about after Ken?”

Hongbin nodded miserably.

“Okay. Tell me about Wonshik.”

And so he did. The words flowed out of him like water, now. She’d already known about Ken and their disastrous attempt at romance. Or, if not romance, at least intimacy… but he told her all about beautiful, enigmatic Wonshik, who collected art, and rapped like a warrior-poet, and about his beautiful body and the way he made Hongbin feel like there was fire in his bloodstream. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed, telling her about their whirlwind love affair. Then he told her about how Wonshik disappeared into nowhere and hadn’t contacted him in ten days and how he was so goddamn sick and tired of feeling second best in every aspect of his life.

The clock ticked past five o’clock and he knew that his session had long since expired and she was probably longing to go home, but she never interrupted. She never told him that his time was up. She allowed him to gush about Wonshik’s tattoos and his sleepy eyes, and the way he felt when they were connected, as though he could see into the depths of his soul, could sense the way he was feeling, could feel Wonshik’s pleasure as well as his own. He told her about how fucking empty he was, finding no pleasure in the things that he’d enjoyed, going about his day to day life with a blank stare, going through the motions. The way people were looking at him with obvious discomfort, not knowing whether he was going to snap at any moment.

Even with Hakyeon, who he was actively avoiding. Hakyeon’s relationship with Taekwoon was just so fucking easy. They’d melded into each other’s lives so naturally and they were so perfect for each other, and it was absolutely infuriating and unbearable to watch them communicate without words and touch without thinking. How could they be so fucking annoyingly _perfect_ when Hongbin couldn’t manage to make his own relationship last a week?

These past two weeks, he’d found himself staring blankly at walls. He spaced out in the middle of conversations until people had just stopped talking to him entirely. He re-lived over and over the way that Wonshik had looked at Jaehwan and called him Dearest (Dearest – because Hongbin would only ever be second, if he was a Dear One at all) and knowing he was never going to be able to compare to that kind of love. He’d thought Wonshik had loved him. He’d _known_ it. But he’d been wrong.

And he was still dreaming. Dreaming of the physical and emotional intimacy he was lacking. He dreamed about making love to Wonshik, to Jaehwan, to both of them together, and seeing them together without him, which tore him apart in more ways than he could possibly fathom. The dreams were so _vivid_. He barely knew whether he was awake or asleep anymore. He wondered whether he could be going insane. He found himself talking to one or the other, even when they weren’t there. He woke in the middle of the night once, believing that Jaehwan was by his bedside, but when he finally, bravely, forced his eyes open, he was alone. And it broke him. He’d sobbed for hours.

And then he told her about going to his parents’ house. The entire meeting had lasted only ten minutes, and he felt as though his relationship with them had been ripped out of his chest to leave nothing but a gaping hole in the center of his being.

He’d arrived at their home shortly before the time his mother had suggested that night, knowing that his father always wanted him to be on time. Even after everything they’d gone through, he still tried to make a good impression. For what reason, he couldn’t begin to fathom.

He’d stood awkwardly in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of meat and bean paste and cooking oil. His mouth watered, even as his stomach felt queasy.

“Did you come alone?” his mother had asked, surprised.

“Yes?” Hongbin raised an eyebrow. Who else was he supposed to be bringing?

“We thought you might bring your…friend with you.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What friend? Hakyeon?” he asked.

His mother’s and father’s eyes had met, communicating silently, not sure how to continue the train of thought without causing offense.

“Your…boyfriend,” his mother had said, hesitantly, as his father’s hands balled up into fists in his pockets.

Hongbin very nearly snapped back that they had broken up. He was _so_ close. But technically, they hadn’t. He just didn’t happen to know what dimension his ‘boyfriend’ had disappeared to. There was no way in hell that Hongbin was about to tell _them_ about his relationship troubles, though. They’d probably just do their best to convince him that the breakup was inevitable, and he wasn’t entirely convinced of that yet.

“You didn’t invite him,” he said flatly. “You asked _me_ to come home for dinner. I wouldn’t have assumed he was welcome after what was said the last time.”

“Don’t speak to your mother in that tone,” his father snapped.

“What tone? All I said is that no one asked me to bring him.” Hongbin took a deep breath, praying for patience. “Are we really going to do this? Because if this is what tonight is going to be like, I should just leave now and save us all the headache.”

“What do you mean like this?” his father argued.

At the same time, his mother protested, “The last time we saw you, you struck your father, Hongbin.”

“If I hadn’t, he would have punched Wonshik,” Hongbin spat.

“Wonshik. His name is Wonshik? Wonshik what?” his father demanded.

“He told you his name!”

“Is he your lover, Hongbin? Because I swear to the Almighty, if my son is a…”

“A what, dad?” Hongbin cried. “A what? A homosexual? A queer? A disgrace? Yes! All of the above! I let Wonshik fuck me and I absolutely fucking love it!”

His father looked as though he were going to hit him again. Hongbin couldn’t bring it in himself to care.

“I’m never getting back together with Kyung Hee! I’m never going to be the child you want! I’m never going to get a ‘respectable’ job, with a pretty house and a pretty wife and pretty babies for you to show off to your friends. I’m going to be _me_. Got it? I’m going to create art and travel and suck my boyfriend’s co--”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence, because his father’s fist connected with his jaw and his sentence was broken by his mother’s scream. The bottle of wine he’d carried fell to the floor, sending a wave of crimson liquid over all of their slippers.

They all looked down in a brief moment of shock, and Hongbin saw drops of blood beginning to fall from his mouth, making ripples in the wine, landing with a soft ‘plip, plip’ sound. And then he started to laugh. He laughed as he clutched his jaw, shaking his head at his father’s stunned, reviled expression. He laughed at his mother’s face, drained of all color. He laughed as his mother began to cry and his father seemed to debate the desire to hit him again, until, still laughing, he turned on his heel and left.

From the front of the house, he could hear his mother screaming at his father to go after him, but no one followed. He left wine-footprints across the living room carpet, hoping they would leave stains that never erased, slipped on his shoes, and headed back out into the cold. His mother and father could eat the doenjang jjigae on their own and clean the carpet on their own and fight over whose fault this all had been. He couldn’t care less. He had his own life to lead.

“Indecision, fear and doubt make the very worst possible bedfellows,” his therapist had once told him. And Hongbin had wasted so many years of his life being afraid – of who he was, of what he wanted, of failure most of all. His parents had ensured that. Because their love was always conditional – conditional on his success.

But before she died, his grandmother had said that she’d always believed that one day he’d be famous; one day he’d get the recognition he deserved. And he promised her that he wouldn’t stop trying, that he wouldn’t give up.

And he wouldn’t. Not now, not ever. Too long he’d been living in the shadows of his own insecurity – he was so afraid of never being good enough, that he’d found himself holding himself back. If he didn’t _really_ try, didn’t give it his all, he didn’t have to be afraid of failing.

No more.

He left the doctor’s office, feeling lighter than he had in years. He’d been so distressed, so angry, so bitterly loathsome of himself. He’d thought that all he had to offer was his pretty face. It’s all everyone seemed to see in him anyway. But now he’d felt some of the fire return inside – some of that spark that had led him to pursue his passion in the first place, rather than mindlessly obeying his parents. Any parents who couldn’t accept him as he was weren’t family of his, anyway.

It was evening before he felt some of the sadness creeping back in. He’d gone back home, hoping to challenge Chansik to a grudge match in the online video game they both loved, but he found him out of the house, with no note (what reason would he have had to leave one, since Hongbin was never home?) and felt so deflated that he didn’t bother to text to see when he would be coming back.

He wandered into the kitchen, realizing he hadn’t eaten all day. He should probably eat something. But there wasn’t any food in the house. That’s what happened when Hongbin wasn’t there to cook. Chansik just ordered takeout.

Is this what he’d become to his friends? Had he become Hakyeon, so utterly obsessed and absorbed in his relationship that he neglected his other relationships? He apparently had…

He looked at his phone, debating whether to order something. He pressed the home key and his lockscreen lit up, a couple-photo of him with Wonshik. It made his heart ache every time he saw it, but he couldn’t bring himself to replace it, either. As long as it was there…he could still believe that Wonshik was coming back.

It had been nearly two weeks with no contact at all.

He should probably change it.

Hongbin stood for a long time in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the blank white wall, breathing.

Wonshik wasn’t there.

He wasn’t there. He knew he wasn’t, and yet…as he’d looked at the photograph with longing, as he put the phone away and let his mind wander, he felt a strange sort of comfort. The same comfort he’d felt in Wonshik’s arms. It was almost as though he were in the same room.

He closed his eyes, remembering the feeling – the soothing heat of his body, the whisper of his breath on his neck. The hairs prickled across his nape as though his lover’s breath were really touching him, ghosting across his skin. His fragile, broken mind begged for him to reach back, to draw Wonshik close, as though he’d really feel him there.

But he knew he wouldn’t. And right now, he’d rather pretend than feel empty air in the space he’d imagined his lover’s body.

It was just so real. He could even feel his heat. If this was insanity, if he’d finally snapped, he’d take it. He was happier this way, imagining, than being alone with the emptiness.

 _Lean back. Just lean back_ , his subconscious whispered. He swayed on his feet, feeling lightheaded with longing. Then he stopped. Squeezed his eyes shut. Dug his fingernails into his palms, struggled to breathe against the tightness in his chest.

He couldn’t lean back. Couldn’t lean into Wonshik, because if he fell, Wonshik wouldn’t catch him.

Because he wasn’t there.

**Author's Note:**

> My Angel AU is very loosely based on the angelic hierarchies created by Pseudo-Dionysius and Thomas Aquinas, in which there are three spheres each containing three orders (or choirs) of angels. In their theories, the first sphere contains the Seraphim, Cherubim, and Ophanim, the heavenly servants of God. The second sphere contains the Dominations, Powers, and Virtues, the warriors and rulers of spirits. The third sphere contains the Principalities, Archangels, and Malakhim (or “plain” angels) who serve as protectors and guides to human beings. 
> 
> That being said, I am not a biblical scholar, and I have taken many liberties with what I have written (and will likely take more as I go), some of which includes the following: Like the hierarchy used in John Milton’s Paradise Lost, when Taekwoon mentions Lucifer as an ‘Archangel,’ he is actually referring to the classification of ‘Seraphim,’ meaning the most powerful angel, not a member of the second-lowest angelic choir. So, Archangels and Seraphim may be used interchangeably. Malakhim take the place of Archangels in the 3x3 hierarchy above, and Watchers take the place of Malakhim on the lowest rung of the ladder. 
> 
> Watchers are the “Eyes of God.” They are placed on earth to be God’s eyes, quite literally. They watch over humanity, may call on Malakhim to assist and intercede on God’s behalf where necessary, but are never to interfere in human affairs themselves. They are to remain impartial, non-judgmental, unbiased, and completely invisible. Malakhim are higher in the hierarchy, can be seen by humans if they choose, and have different functions, such as to deliver messages, provide divine intervention, or serve as guardians.
> 
> If you have any questions about angelology, my research, my AU, my writing, or just want to say hi, feel free to leave me a comment, or drop me a line on Twitter: @lascifvixx. I’m always up for making new friends, both on and off the computer screen.


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